


How to Live

by Arvensis5



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Except Odin, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Loki, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki-centric, M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Slow Build, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, hugs for everyone, mentions of past suicide attempts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 89,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvensis5/pseuds/Arvensis5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story from Loki's perspective, inspired by a list of one hundred reasons to stay alive. Or, Loki learns to appreciate the small things in life while trying to stay alive as Thanos threatens on the horizon, Doom keeps trying to destroy everything he's come to care for, and the Avengers hang on for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series) by [heart-filled-with-hope](http://heart-filled-with-hope.tumblr.com). 
> 
> First ever FrostIron. Second ever fan fiction. I sort of hate/blame/love you all. Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

He rolled his eyes as he eyed the first item on the list Tony had given him. One word.

 _Recovery_.

What a farce. He tossed the tablet aside. He still had nightmares, of course. Horrible nightmares with black and pain and terror, and he awoke covered in sweat and tinged blue. Tony had learned not to touch him when he was blue, and the thought made his chest seize. Instead, Tony sat with him, calling his name over and over and over again until he'd wake. (Well, not his name. One of those ridiculous nicknames the mortal was so fond of).

And his heart would race so hard afterwards, so hard that Loki at times thought it might explode. Again. Like when-

But he recovered. Wasn't that the same as recovery?

He shook his head, his mind twisting the phrase over and over again. The word felt odd in all-speak. Different. As though the meaning of the word was corrupted, impure, tainted when translated into the language of the gods.  _Like him_ , his mind whispered, not quite Asgardian and not quite Jotun, and tainted by his association with both.

He paced quickly across the room, then turned again to stroll towards the couch, his back towards the city outside. It was bright and cheerful outside, the last gasp of summer heat as the city prepared for the holiday weekend ahead, or as Tony had explained it, the last fling of summer before the season changed, when half the city would evacuate for one last weekend in the Hamptons before autumn set in.

"Jarvis, if you could please define the first item on the list? And pronounce it, in common English vernacular," he ordered.

"Certainly Mr. Lie-smith. Recovery. Noun. 'A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.' It is pronounced as 'ri-kav-er-ie'. Recovery."

Recovery. Recover. Re. Cover. Cover.

Recovery. What a stupid concept. Of course he was recovered. Well, physically at least. His health had returned, as had his strength. He'd seen the images SHIELD recorded of his arrival, the gaunt cheekbones and lanky black hair, and his eyes. Blue-tinted eyes that swiveled unsteadily back and forth as he carefully stood. He even had  _looked_  crazed when he arrived. But had he been as crazy as he looked?

Tony certainly had thought so.

Loki paced again. It was disturbing to examine his memories, even in the bright sunlight of the penthouse, but needs must and all that. Would he ever truly recover in mind? Tony had been tortured too, and he still had nightmares, even though it was (by human years, of course) so long ago.

He sank into the couch, his head suddenly heavy as he rested his elbows on his knees. It was too hard, this living thing, it was so much easier just existing, just letting himself drift away into the ether, like a blanket of fog and ice and snow, and he missed ( _fiercely_ , though he'd never say it out loud, or at least not where a certain mortal genius might hear him) the peace that overcame him as he had fallen away from Asgard. The moment when he thought nothing would ever matter to him again, and he welcomed the oblivion. Welcomed it, and regretted it at the same moment, in a way he couldn't explain. He didn't want to die, but he liked the feeling of letting go.

Loki's shoulders twitched.

And that's the problem, he sighed. Something—or should he say, someone—mattered again. Someone had picked him up from the rubble, wiped away the dirt, and saw him. Saw what was underneath the shell and masks and pain. Someone noticed the bags under his eyes, that he hadn't slept—actually slept!—since he had fallen from the bifrost, since before The Other had found him-

No, he corrected himself. He didn't fall.

Maybe recovery meant he had to be truthful, despite his namesake, despite his reputation. Maybe he could just be truthful with himself, just this once, for Tony.

He had let go. He had let go, and tried, willed it, wanted to die at that moment, when he let go and watched as his world fell away. He tried to surrender, to give away everything of value and importance, even himself.

And for what? A father who could never love him as himself? A kingdom that willfully misunderstood and vilified him for his natural gifts, even before they knew he was born from monsters?

Maybe the first step to recovery is accepting that he had something to actually recover from.


	2. The First Rain of Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series). I'll be updating one or two segments a day until the list is complete, depending on real life and all that.

"It's raining!" Tony shouted, startling Loki from where he had perched by the window overlooking the penthouse balcony. He glared at Tony as the smaller man rushed over to his side. "Do you know what this means, Lokes?"

Loki studied him carefully. The mortal had bags under his eyes, deep purple in color. Neither had slept well last night. Loki had almost gone entirely blue before Tony had managed to wake him from another nightmare, and Tony had suffered a panic attack in the shower when Loki had accidentally splashed water in his face. But the man before him didn't look tired. He looked a little bit manic, as though the grin would split his face in two if he had anything more to smile about.

Tony threw a casual arm around his waist and Loki didn't flinch as the mortal rested his head on Loki's shoulder. "Step two," Tony said. "First rain of autumn."

Loki blinked in surprise. He'd already forgotten about the list Tony had given him last week. The mortal had told him that it was a list of things to live for. Reasons to stay alive, he said. And you had to stay alive to check them off the list, one by one, and then at the end…

He didn't know what happened at the end.

But for now, as the rain bathed the city below in forgiveness and hope, he felt the fleeting stirrings of hope bloom against his sternum, an odd pressure welling up against the heat of Tony's breath on his chest.

"So it is," he said.


	3. Stepping on Crunchy Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series). Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

He noticed the smell first, the dampness that hadn’t dissipated after the rain early that morning. The air felt cooler too, as though the storm had stewarded in more than just rain, but transformed the mood of the city as well. All around them, mortals shoved past to and fro as they scurried on their way, oblivious to the god and genius standing on the sidewalk in Manhattan. Well, almost oblivious. He was pretty sure that the guy with a camera a few streets back had snapped off a few shots of Tony as they hurried by, when Tony had adjusted his hat and had Loki hold his bright orange-rimmed sunglasses.

“This is stupid, Stark,” Loki grumbled, and not for the first time. 

“Shut up Prancer, you’ll love it,” Tony grabbed his elbow, steering him around an inconveniently placed trash bin. “There has to be a fucking tree somewhere around here.”

Tony swerved suddenly towards a line of trees along the avenue, jerking Loki’s arm as the god turned to follow. The trees were squared in shape, the remaining brown and red leaves manicured in perfect lines, and Loki looked up to see how high the tree limbs reached (fatal mistake, Tony had told him. Only tourists looked up in the city).

 “Ugh,” Tony prodded a soggy brown pile with his toe, “They’re all wet. Let’s keep going. The park’s not much further.”

 Loki rolled his eyes, moving quickly to dart after Tony as the smaller man hurried across the street in a… what had Tony called it? A cross walk-way? He slowed once he reached the other side, and grabbed Tony’s hood to pull the mortal back.

Tony grinned, slinging an arm around Loki’s shoulder. “I’ll buy you lunch after we find some leaves, Lokes,” Tony said, and as he turned towards the god the bill of the mortal’s baseball cap grazed Loki’s head. The red cap and orange sunglasses looked out of place on the mortal with his nice jacket and designer jeans, but no one had bothered to approach them on the street, and for that, Loki was grateful. “But we gotta get you past step three! It’s been almost two weeks!” Tony exclaimed.

“Stark, the only one obsessing about this list is you,” Loki growled. “I do _not_ need to _live in the moment_ , as you put it, my life is inordinately longer than an average mortal’s, I will have _plenty_ of moments.”

Tony stopped suddenly, and Loki felt a twinge of guilt, like in the early days of their friendship when Loki had pushed too far, said things he didn’t mean to say to Tony, hurtful things, when he couldn’t understand why the mortal had defended him, why the mortal had protected him against his friends, against all evidence to the contrary that Loki’s intentions were as nefarious as the god had pretended when he first arrived on Midgard, filled with his supposed ‘glorious purpose’.  

But then Tony turned and Loki saw the hint of a smile on the mortal’s lips, his amber eyes bright in the late morning sunlight, and that was all the warning Loki had before Tony changed directions again, charging off towards a patch of green.

 By the time Loki had joined him in the small square, a green space stuffed in between two busy streets with a few park benches and a small copse of trees that had already shed most of their leafy cover, Tony had kicked together a pile of something resembling brown mush and had taken to tromping across the grass towards a pile of leaves underneath one of the benches.

“Okay Lo-Lo, this is the best I could find,” Tony said as he returned, brandishing a pile of leaves carried in the crook of his arm with a flourish as he plopped down the small pile onto the sidewalk. “Step on these, and then we’ll go eat.”

Loki obediently stepped on the pile. 

Nothing happened. The leaves didn’t crunch, didn’t make much of a sound at all, really. All he could hear were the nearby city traffic, and birds chirping in a feeding frenzy around a white paper bag left by one of the park benches (flying rats, Tony had called them).

“Well?” Tony prompted.

“The list said to step on crunchy leaves, not to step on a soggy wet mess of organic matter that may or may not have been leaves at one time, before it degraded,” Loki retorted.

“Eh. We live in the middle of Manhattan, there aren’t a lot of dried up leaves around here,” Tony grimaced as he scrapped a clump of mud from his black dress shoes on the pavement. “Maybe I could fire a lower grade blast, get this mess to dry up. Or stick them into a kiln or something. With a lower flashpoint-”

“Stark, I’m fairly certain that defeats the point. Aren’t these supposed to be innocent life experiences for you mortals?”

Tony scratched his head. “I bet I could refine one of my manufacturing welders into a low flashpoint heating unit, cook the leaves into a crunchy dry mat. But then the individual leaf wouldn’t crunch, and the sound would be different.”

“Stark, you are an idiot. Designing some device to modify the properties of organic matter, such that it may be properly enjoyed, violates the rules of the list.”

“Since when did you care about rules, Lo-kitty?” He kicked at another pile, the soggy mess splashing in little droplets as his shoe slid across the surface, “Anyway, we’re supposed to be frolicking in these things, not sliding.”

“I’m supposed to be finding the smaller things in life to look forward to. By the Nines, Stark, if I have to shove leaves into a kiln in order to properly step on them, I might actually _try_ to jump off the bifrost again,” Loki glared at the offending mess on the pavement, and shoved his hands into the pockets of the jacket Tony had procured for him.

 “Loki,” Tony’s severe tone startled the god into looking up from the muck, and his shoulders tensed. “You aren’t still… I mean, you’re happy here, things are getting better…”

“Relax Stark,” Loki flicked a newly fallen leaf from his shoulder; his jacket was damp underneath. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	4. Meeting New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“Hello!” a warm voice greeted him as he exited the elevator. “You must be Loki.”

Loki froze, and his hands shook as he scanned the room. Seated casually on a barstool with her heels off and a glass of red wine in hand, the woman who had called out offered a casual wave, and Loki forced his feet to move as he surveyed the room. Aside from the unexpected visitor, the penthouse was empty.

She was well dressed in an understated grey pinstripe suit that was both professional yet feminine in cut, with a silky black top beneath the jacket, and her strawberry blond hair had been pulled into a loose bun. A pen dangled from the bun, as though she’d hoarded one away to sign documents during a meeting and had forgotten about it.

Didn’t Tony say that the penthouse was private, that his teammates couldn’t come to the floor without Tony’s authorization? So, she wasn’t an Avenger then. The woman sipped her drink, watching Loki above the rim of her wine glass as he paced along the wall. Her eyes crinkled in mirth, and Loki almost felt put upon, that his discomfort was something to be laughed at by this mortal.

“Miss Potts,” he began, for it could only be her, “I wasn’t expecting… that is to say, Jarvis didn’t mention…Stark said…”

The woman laughed, and her eyes crinkled again. “Please, call me Pepper.”

“Pepper.” Loki managed, as he angled the kitchen counter between himself and Miss Potts, his hands twitching as he inched his way closer to the knife drawer, just in case.  He couldn’t remember if he’d ever done anything to hurt her, besides that whole throwing Tony out the window thing. But that was before, wasn’t it, back when- 

Loki shivered, and let his hands fall to run along the wall as he trailed into the kitchen.

“He didn’t tell you I was coming over for dinner tonight, did he?” Miss Potts asked.

“Ah. No.” With effort Loki placed his hands flat on the granite countertop. The cool stone withstood the force as he pressed his palms, hard, into the surface of the granite to stop his hands from shaking.

“Step four!” Tony chimed in from the living room, and Loki turned to glare in his direction. “Meeting new friends. Pep-Pep, meet Lo-kitty.” 

“Stark,” Loki growled. “Again with that infernal list. And I thought I told you _not_ to call me that.”

Tony grinned as he came into the kitchen with two tumblers half filled with an amber liquid. “And I told you to call me Tony. Guess we’re even, Lo-kitty.”

The mortal placed one of the tumblers between Loki’s outstretched hands on the counter, and spun around to pull a tray from one of the warming ovens.  Loki picked up the tumbler and cradled it to his chest, letting the smoking flavor of the amber liquid wash over his senses. Smells had a way of centering him when nothing else worked, and over the last few months of living in Tony’s home, ever since he’d finally been released from SHIELD’s custody, he’d come to enjoy the smell of Tony’s beverage of choice. But when had Tony figured that out?

 _Genius, remember_? His mind traitorously provided. He inhaled the scent again, letting the tension fall from his shoulders.

“Goddamn it Tony, its garlic bread, not splitting a molecule!”

“That doesn’t matter Pep-Pep, the slices should still be parallel.” Loki looked up to see that Tony and Pepper were bickering over the proper way to slice through garlic bread, and Loki exhaled slowly, relieved to notice that neither had mentioned his inattention.

“Give me that, I’ll cut it,” Pepper reached for the knife.

“Hey, hey, hey! I invented an element, I can cut garlic bread!” Tony snarked, as he carefully measured and calibrated the width between the slices with an image projection from his mobile phone.

Loki laughed suddenly, a short burst of amusement that he couldn’t control, couldn’t stifle, and when he noticed Pepper watching him, he tucked his chin to his chest, letting his hair fall in a curtain around his face.

A hand snaked around his elbow and tugged the god closer, until his arm was pressed against Tony’s. The warmth was overwhelming, solid, and Tony smelled like motor oil and something else, something potent.

“You like garlic bread, Lokes? Try it.” the mortal asked, handing him a slice as though it was the most natural thing in the world, to eat garlic bread while drinking whiskey and standing in a kitchen with his best friend’s other best friend and former girlfriend. (But they were more than just friends, right? Loki couldn’t think about that now.)

He took the proffered slice and tasted it. The garlic flavor was strong but not overly potent (Ah ha! That’s what he smelled on Tony!), and it was warm on his lips. Pepper giggled, and Loki belatedly realized he’d moaned out loud.

“S’good, isn’t it? Told you.” Tony bustled off to pull another carton from the warming drawer, and Pepper moved to another cabinet to plop three bowls and a serving spoon down on the counter. The two moved in quick efficient movements dishing up pasta and refilling wine glasses, before Tony grabbed onto Loki’s elbow again and the three arranged themselves on the couches in front of the television. 

It was hours later, as Loki lay half-dozing with his head resting on the back of the couch, eyes closed and sprawled out with his arms and legs in different directions, with his bowl on the coffee table after he had emptied both second and third servings, that Loki heard them talking. It was the soft clink of the second bottle of wine against a glass that had briefly woken him, but it was Pepper’s soft words that caught his attention. 

“He’s different than I expected. More fragile.” 

“Yes,” Tony agreed, and Loki debated whether he had the strength to protest. “But he’s strong, and he’s doing better. Better than I was, this soon after Afghanistan.”

“Tony, it’s almost been six months since New York.” Pepper whispered this time, as though it was taboo to discuss the failed ‘invasion’ that Loki had brought down upon New York. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent, and he almost jumped as a hand came to rest on his ankle, stroking the skin gently in calming circles.

“He spent three months in SHIELD custody, Pep, before they’d believe any of it. That he was just as much a puppet as Barton. Worse, even. Barton quite literally had no free will, was just a puppet dangling on strings. Those fuckers gave Loki just enough rope…” Tony exhaled sharply, and Loki could imagine the mortal’s face as he silently counted to ten. “It’s only been since August that he could really let go, think it all through. You know how hard that is, that limbo.”

“Yes,” she said simply, but Loki got the impression that there was so much more to her answer than he comprehended.

He wanted to pay attention, to keep listening to the soothing murmur of Tony’s voice as he talked about some planned modifications to the next Starkphone, he really did. But the last thing he remembered that night was something resembling fingers carding through his hair and a whispered “Nice to meet you, Lo-kitty.”


	5. Seeing Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault. 
> 
> (Well, this one sort of got away from me. A bit longer than planned, so only one update today. Enjoy.)

“Hey Lo-Lo, how do you feel about step five?” Tony had returned home earlier than Loki had expected, and Loki looked up, surprised. The shorter man had already showered the grease and oil from his hair, and the faint odor of his cologne drifted through the room, along with the scent of Tony’s ever-present coffee. The mortal seemed to vibrate with energy as he bounded into the sitting room, in contrast to the dreary day outside. “I mean, you don’t have to, but dinner last week with Pepper went so well, it just seems like it’s a shame to be stuck on step five when there are so many more steps, and-”

Loki raised a hand to stop Tony’s tirade, interrupting: “And what, pray tell me, is step five?”

“Seeing old friends,” Tony said quickly, sipping his coffee to cover his expression.

Loki looked up from his book. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then slammed the book shut. The sound was not nearly loud enough to gratify the trickster. “Step five is pointless, Stark. I don’t have any old friends to see, especially not on Midgard.”

“Um. About that…”

Loki sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

The mortal grinned as the elevator dinged. “It’s movie night? I may have sort of invited the gang here. For pizza too, nothing fancy, you can sit on the couch next to me. I promise it will be fun. But hey, um, what do you say, Lo-Kitty?”

“Lo-kitty? Kinky, Stark! I didn’t think you were a furry,” a voice taunted from the hallway, followed by the sound of a slap and an exclaimed, “Ow! Nat!”

“Ha, ha, Barton.” Tony absently flipped the bird in Clint’s direction, his eyes never leaving Loki’s face, “Go grab some pizza, we’ll join you in a minute.”

Loki grimaced, and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. “This is going to be a disaster, Stark,” he whispered. Hands came to rest on his shoulders, and Loki leaned into the touch, letting his head fall forward to rest on Tony’s stomach. A gentle hand carded through his hair.

“If it’s too much, I’ll make them leave,” Tony said, “It’s just Cap, Natasha, and Clint tonight. Bruce is out of town.”

Loki nodded carefully, relishing the graze of Tony’s fingers, which had worked from his shoulders to scalp and now ran gentle patterns over his neck, not light enough to tickle nor firm enough to loosen the tension in Loki’s shoulders.

“Okay,” he muttered, and looked up to see the gentle grin Tony bestowed on him, and those warm brown eyes twinkling with some emotion Loki couldn’t place, something that warmed his soul, made Loki want to try harder, to complete the goddamn list that Tony had become so obsessive about.

Loki followed Tony into the penthouse’s entertainment room. Tony liked to joke that it was actually Loki’s room, because it was only after that day in New York, when Tony had been faced with yet another renovation to his floor, that the mortal decided to transform the room that had been set aside as Pepper’s office into an entertainment room, complete with a wall sized high end screen and three rows of stadium seating couches.

“Fucking finally,” Barton snarled as the pair entered. “What’d you do, lose your tongue down each other’s throats?”

“Don’t be crass, Clint.” Rogers scolded.

“What’d I say?”

“Knock it off, Birdbrain.” Tony growled, as he handed Loki a plate with pizza already piled high. He maneuvered Loki into the couch furthest from Clint.

“I’m sorry, I just figured he must be giving it good if you close off your floor to your friends just because bag-of-cats here is going all rain-man. Ow! Nat, stop hitting me, god damn it!”

“Then stop talking,” Romanova smiled at Barton, and it was all Loki could do not to flinch at her expression. Tony barked a laugh as Barton made the motion of zipping his lips shut, then wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

“Thank God,” Rogers groaned, then turned towards Loki and Tony. “Hey Loki, how’s it hanging?”

“How’s it hanging?” Tony snorted, “Really, Steve? What, are you taking slang lessons from Urban Dictionary? No one says that anymore. Except Clint...”

“Hey!”

“And he means it sexually.”

Rogers’ face turned an interesting shade of red as Barton and Tony cackled, and Loki sank back into the couch. His eyes met with Romanova’s, and she shared a smirk.

“Alright enough Tony, you’ve had your fun," grumbled Rogers. “Loki, Tony says you guys are making progress in the project you’re working on, some thing-a-ma-bopper to detect pathways?”

And before Loki could answer him, Barton chimed in, “Oh come on Cap, we’re not talking about this now, are we?” Barton groaned, “If I wanted to learn something I’d watch the history channel.”

“Didn’t they just show that mermaids hoax film?” asked Tony between a bite of pizza. “Totally not true. I lived in Malibu. I’d know if there were mermaids.”

“So what are we watching?” Romanova asked, clapping her hand over Barton’s mouth before he could reply. “It’s Tony’s turn to pick, Clint, and I’m not watching another supposed 80’s cult classic that no one has heard of besides you and Jarvis.”

“Jarvis, surprise us,” Tony ordered, “Something lightweight and funny, without hysterics, but new to Cap and Loki.”

“Very well sir.”

“But not too romantic!” demanded Barton, “Don’t want lover boys to get distracted!”

“Clint!” Rogers and Romanova shouted at the same time, and Loki hid his smile behind a bite of pizza. He licked his lips, clearing the pizza sauce that had stuck to the corner of his mouth.

It bothered him, if he thought about it (and he really tried not to think about it), how everyone assumed he and Tony were, well, together. Because they weren’t, not really. Or not like that, he should say. Tony was just… well, Tony. After New York, when Thor had wanted to take Loki back to Asgard, he had all but given up. It was the bifrost all over again, except this time he knew no one in Asgard would ever listen, would ever believe him.

And right there, in front of his friends, Tony had thrown down the metal case, donned the suit, and tackled Loki away from Thor just as the All-Father opened the pathway to Asgard.

Tony later told him that it was something in Loki’s eyes, the way Loki had looked around the plaza at each of the Avengers that had finally convinced the mortal that his theory from watching SHIELD’s earliest surveillance videos was true. He just knew, he said. Loki looked like Tony, when the genius was trapped in that cave in Afghanistan and ordered to build the terrorists weapons… or die.

The first month in SHIELD’s custody was the hardest. It was as though a switch had been thrown, and that final release that Loki had anticipated, the knowledge of what waited for him in Asgard (for surely it would be death, the All-Father would not let this stand), had been taken from him. He refused to speak with anyone but Tony, no matter how they cajoled him, no matter what they promised, no matter how many times the Black Widow smiled at him through the glass (but they never tortured him, never hurt him… at the time Loki didn’t understand it, kept waiting for the first blow, but now he was fairly certain Tony had something to do with that). And even after they consented, and Tony sat across from him in that infernal glass room, he spent weeks giving flippant responses and toying with the mortal. But the engineer never wavered, never got upset with Loki’s antics, until one day Tony walked in with a box of donuts and opened the door to the glass room.

Loki would never forget that moment, when the cocksure mortal stepped into his prison cell, alarms blaring in the background, and handed him a box of donuts. Jarvis must have done something, because when Fury and the others arrived, pounding on the door for all they were worth, Tony just sat himself down in a chair and carried on as though he and Loki were the only two people in the entire universe.

The movie that Jarvis had selected seemed to involve a lot of mortals making idiots of themselves as they stumbled through life looking for happiness, and there were references that he didn’t understand, but he wasn’t the only one. The group kept pausing the film as Tony and Clint worked to clarify questions from Rogers about the movie, and Loki helped himself to another slice of pizza from the box closest to Tony. He could get used to this, he thought. Everyone had been rather understanding, eventually (except for Barton), and the human capacity for second chances never failed to amaze Loki.

That morning, Tony told Loki about Afghanistan. Things he had never told anyone, he said. About Yinsen, and his, as Tony put it, ongoing ‘thing’ with water. And then he told Loki that he already knew, that someone, somewhere, somehow had gotten to Loki before Loki got to Earth, and Tony was going to prove it, with or without Loki’s cooperation. It was almost too much. Loki hadn’t said a word, just sat there, until his hands started shaking, and then he remembered screaming, screaming for hours and hours, and Tony just sat there, talking to him, talking him through it.

When SHIELD released him a month later to his probationary period on Midgard (Earth, his mind chimed in, he lived here now, might as well try to act like a local), Tony had shown up in the most ridiculous sun glasses, escorted the god to his car, and driven him straight to the tower.

That they ended up sleeping in the same bed most nights because of Loki’s nightmares (and Tony’s too, if Loki was going to be honest) was purely accidental. And showering together, also not actually all that sexual. When Loki had first arrived at the tower, it was as though the world had been lifted from his shoulders and he suddenly had the space and time to shut down (before the list, Loki huffed in realization, damn Stark for that). He stopped eating, stopped bathing, stopped moving for almost two weeks before Tony had donned a suit and bodily carried him into the shower. That they continued to occasionally shower together, usually when Loki had drifted off into a temper or had a bad night, and Tony had to threaten him with the suit, well…. Tony was comfortable. Safe, even.

It’d not taken Loki long to realize that he had let his guard down with Tony, that the mortal had begun to take liberties that Loki hadn’t afforded to anyone in years. The first time Tony had thrown an arm around his waist. Put a hand on his shoulder. Ran his fingers through Loki’s hair after a shower. Loki closed his eyes, swallowing the wave of anxiety. Sure, the mortal was attractive. And fascinating. More fascinating than he had any right to be, honestly. And Loki wasn’t exactly going anywhere any time soon, what with the dual Asgardian and Midgardian probationary period. But what if Tony wanted more? What if he wanted more, and Loki wasn’t ready?

Would he ever be ready? Did it bother Tony, that Barton teased him about Loki, how did he say it, performing sexual favors for Tony? Was that why everyone thought he’d moved into the tower? What if Tony tired of him, wanted him gone from the tower, was tired of the nightmares, of the goddamn fucking blue skin that was too cold to touch during those nightmares, wanted Loki out of his life like his own father-

No, Loki thought, Odin was not his father, ha ha, wasn’t there some terrible daytime television show he’d stumbled across last week in which mortal men celebrated when informed they are not the baby’s father, Odin should go on the show, he didn’t deserve to be thought of as father, not anymore, not after…

But his mother, Frigga, she- and-

Was she still his mother?

“Whoa!” Barton exclaimed. “Is he turning blue?” and Loki whimpered suddenly, his shoulders curving as his arms crossed protectively over his stomach.

“Alright guys, it’s been real, but get out.” Tony’s voice was close, and Loki leaned towards him, a whine escaping his lips before he could muffle it. He heard the elevator ding, and then it was silent except for Tony’s muttered words and those infernal nicknames.

“Shhh, Lo-Lo,” the voice said. “Shhh. I’m not sure where you are right now, but you’re safe. You’re in the penthouse at the tower, and we’re watching the world’s worst rom-com ever made, shhh Lo-kitty, you’re safe now. Come on Lokes, talk to me.”

And Loki looked up into Tony’s concerned face, then slowly willed the blue to fade from his hands. As soon as his color evened out, Tony handed him a tumbler of scotch, and Loki sniffed at the liquid.

“Was it the movie?” Tony asked. “Or just too many people? We can try again next week with just the Cap, maybe that will be better. He’s a good guy, Lokes. You know I won’t let anyone up here who would hurt you.”

“I know,” Loki replied, but it didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulders and tugged Loki to lean back against his body. “Talk to me Snowflake.”

Loki pulled the tumbler to his chest and let the scent wash over him. “Does it bother you? That everyone thinks we’re….”

“That we’re…” Tony prompted.

“Together...you know. Sexually.” Loki mumbled.

Tony chuckled quietly. “That’s what caused your panic attack? Because Barton made crude comments and you had an existential crisis?”

Loki tried to stand. “Forget I said anything, Stark. Of course not.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony tightened his grip on Loki’s shoulders, and Loki relented. “If it bothers you, we’ll talk about it. Um, what is it, exactly, that bothers you? I don’t… I mean… I can’t help if I don’t understand why you’re upset. It bothers you that Clint jokes about it? You know I don’t care about that, Lo-Lo. Yes, you’re a sexy goddamn bastard, I mean, er, okay so maybe bastard isn’t the best of word choices here. What I mean is that I'm, uh, attracted to you, um, but that's not why you're here, it’s not going to change anything. You’ll still have a place here, at the tower. I just want you to get better, to feel more like you, you know-”

“Tony, stop talking…” he turned to look at Tony to see the mortal slack jawed and looking at Loki as though he held all the secrets in the world, with wide brown eyes brimmed in tears, and Loki felt his heart clinch. “What’s wrong, what did I say?”

“Did you,” the mortal gaped, and licked his lips in a nervous gesture. “Did you just call me Tony?”

Loki couldn’t help himself. He laughed.


	6. Waking up an hour before your alarm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

It was Tony’s screams that woke him, and he shuffled down the hall, groggy and bleary eyed towards the mortal’s bedroom.

He found Tony twisted inside his sheets, so tangled that his arms were pinned tightly against his sides, with one ankle dangling off the bed and the other kicking wildly at the blankets. For not the first time, Loki missed his strength, the brute power granted by his Asgardian form (or was it Jotun? Traitorous sleep deprived thoughts), locked away for the duration of his probation. Along with most of his magic, but that, Loki didn’t care too much about for now. Without magic, he didn’t have to perform for SHIELD, didn’t have to do tricks to earn his keep on Midgard. 

But now, the sheets were a problem, because he couldn’t untangle Tony, and shaking the genius’s shoulders only made his tremors and screams worse. And he couldn’t just lift Tony to find his way through the tangled sheets, or rip the sheets off all together.

Finally, Loki managed to pull at one of the corners, loosening the coverings enough that one arm slipped free, and for his trouble he was rewarded with a smack in the nose. Loki grunted, cradling his face. It hadn’t been hard enough to break anything, but it smarted. He checked his palms. Clean, so it wasn’t bleeding.

Good. The one time Tony had accidentally given him a nosebleed, the mortal had spent three days apologizing and afraid to even come near Loki at dinner. Which was funny, considering Loki had thrown the man out a window only six and a half months ago.

“Jarvis, lights at seventy five percent,” he called. The room brightened, and Loki studied Tony’s face, still twisted in pain with his one free arm flailed wildly, looking for purchase against the silky sheets. Incoherent phrases poured from the mortal’s lips, and Loki could see a thin sheen of sweat across his brow.

“Tony,” he said again, shaking the mortal’s shoulders, careful to stay clear of his arm. “Tony. It’s not real, whatever you are seeing. Tony, wake up.”

It was no use. Wherever Tony was, he was too far gone to hear Loki’s pleas. So Loki did the only thing he could, what Tony had done for him time and time again. He called his name, again and again, and waited. Except unlike when Loki had nightmares, Tony didn’t turn frostbite blue, and Loki kept a firm hand patting Tony’s side. 

Finally, Tony quieted, and a moment later, he pulled his other arm free from the sheets, and sat up. 

“Fuck,” the mortal whispered, and Loki moved to sit beside him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sorry I woke you, Lokes.” He turned to look at Loki, his eyes were red-rimmed and angry tear-tracks still littered his cheeks. 

“Afghanistan?” the god asked, and Tony shook his head. Loki sighed. If it wasn’t Afghanistan, it was New York. And Loki felt the unfamiliar twinges of guilt tighten around his lungs, an emotion he had never experienced so often in all of his time on Asgard as he had in the last few months he’d spent on Earth. 

Loki leaned into Tony’s side, letting his head fall to rest wearily on the mortal’s shoulder. He waited as Tony’s breathing evened out, as his heart calmed to a normal pace, and then he felt Tony’s shoulders finally relax. 

“Jarvis, time,” whispered Tony.

“It is 6:37 AM.”

“S’early still, Lo-Lo, just stay here.” Loki felt Tony’s arm come around his shoulders, “Wait. Jarvis, what’s on tap for today?”

“Sir’s alarm is scheduled for 7:30 AM, with a follow-up appointment for Mr. Lie-Smith with Agent Hill scheduled for 9 AM at SHIELD’s headquarters. Sir also has a meeting with R&D scheduled for the afternoon.” 

Tony chuckled, and Loki looked up to see what the mortal has found so entertaining. 

“Step six, Lokes.” Tony smiled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Waking up an hour before your alarm goes off. Now we have to get up. How do you feel about pancakes, I think I can make pancakes? Jarvis, can I make pancakes?“

“The last three calls to the Malibu fire department say otherwise, sir.”

“I bet I can make pancakes today. You’ll help me, right Lokes?”

Loki groaned in response, but moved to stand as Tony untangled his legs from the sheets.


	7. Beautiful Sunsets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

The door clattered open with a bang, startling Loki, and he leapt up from his chair and spun around, only to find Tony standing at the entrance to the stairwell and huffing for breath. As Loki watched, the mortal hunched over, and rested his hands on his knees, the engineer’s harsh wheezing echoing across the rooftop.

“Tony?” Loki asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Jar- Jarvis said- he…” Tony wheezed, and Loki’s brows furrowed. He took a few careful steps towards the shorter man. “He said you were up here. Wanted to see me… fuck, I need to start running again or something.”

As Loki reached his side, Tony coughed suddenly and sagged against Loki. The god made a startled noise, eyes widening, as though Tony would fall over or expire that very moment, and honestly, it wasn’t that wild a speculation considering how the mortal’s lungs seemed to constrict with each gasp. 

“S’okay, just less…. lung capacity. Reactor.” Tony thumped his chest, and Loki put an arm around the mortal’s shoulders and guided him towards the lawn chairs. 

“Did you…” Loki sniffed, Tony still smelled of oil and something burnt, he had clearly come straight from his workshop. “Did you actually run up the three flights of stairs? Why? I told Jarvis it wasn’t urgent.”

Tony sagged into the chair, and took the water Loki handed him from the blue cooler, then the mortal blinked, and studied the cooler more carefully. “Is that the one Clint was complaining about the other day, that had gone missing?”

Loki grinned, “It wasn’t me. Rogers brought it up here. He showed me how to get out here, too.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed, “Why the fucking hell would Steve do that?”

Loki settled into the lawn chair next to Tony. “Am I not allowed out here, on the roof?” he asked. “I did not think it was off limits, as Rogers comes up here to sketch sometimes.”

Tony rubbed his forehead. “Lokes, no, you can come out on the roof. I just don’t understand… okay, look, it’s like this, I know you’re used to being indestructible. I mean, that fall from the plane when Point Break showed up, that was sort of epic. But right now, while you’re on probation, you are as fragile and mortal as the rest of us. And the last time you were this high up, or higher, I guess, don’t really understand the physics of that, you, um, sort of had a death wish.”

Loki looked at his hands. “You thought I was thinking of jumping.”

“All Jarvis told me was that you were on the roof, and had been for some time. I don’t, er, that is to say, Jarvis doesn’t have any eyes up here. I didn’t fucking know why you were up here. I didn’t know.”

Loki fumbled with his water, and looked up to find Tony studying him intently. “So, you ran up the stairs because I… scared you?” he guessed.

“Damn straight you scared me, you asshole! Jarvis doesn’t work up here, and I came home to find you’d gone to the roof!”

“I’m sorry?” Loki ventured, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Tony sighed. “Fine, whatever. Um. I guess I overreacted. Remind me again, why we’re on the roof? And sitting in plastic lawn chairs that I’m fairly certain I did not purchase for my modern marvel of architecture?”

Loki smiled, and gestured to the western sky, painted oranges and blues and pinks as the sun sunk lower on the horizon. “Step seven, you idiot.”


	8. Shooting Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault. The alternative title for this chapter is "Oh snap, shit just got real."

“Oh come on Snowflake, it will be fun. And then you’ll have one more step completed. I can fly us there in the suit, it will be quick. I know a good picnic spot in Jersey that should be far enough,” He turned the screen towards Loki.

“For the last time, I don’t want to go see the meteor shower,” He pointed to a peak on the screen. “That one seems like it’s artificially generated, it’s too regular, are you sure that’s not interference? It doesn’t look like how matter moves on Yggdrasil.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it doesn’t _look like_ how matter moves on Yggdrasil? What, are you going to tell me you can hear its frequency now too? Maybe we should calibrate you to sense these things instead.”

Loki shrugged. “There is a hum to the bifrost. And I am calibrated to find the pathways, when I have magic.”

Tony hummed, as his fingers flew over the keyboard, cutting out the source of the interference. “We could just go up above the city lights to see the show. Don’t have to go out to the country, if that’s what-“

“Stark…” Loki grumbled.

“Oh, so now I’m Stark again, huh Lo-Kitty?”

“Goddamn it, Tony. I don’t like looking outside at night. It’s too black, even here. It reminds me of the void, of the time between when I jumped off the Bifrost and landed _there_.” Loki’s fingers clinched in tight fists, and he tensed when Tony leaned forward to rest his head on Loki’s arm. 

“Okay okay, I’m sorry. We’ll just draw a picture and pretend it’s a shooting star. With glitter maybe, I don’t know.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He’d learned last week what glitter was, quite by accident, when Tony had decided to demonstrate some childish art project that he thought Loki should try, something that involved making Rorschach test samples with glue and glitter. Needless to say, the battle that occurred afterwards may have required Tony to invent a more efficient suction vacuum to clean the penthouse carpets of glitter.

“Tony? Loki?” Rogers called out as he entered the workshop. “Are you guys in here?”

Loki looked up briefly from the monitor. Of course it was Rogers that came down to check on them in the workshop, after the pair had been working non-stop for almost two days, Loki mused.

“Back here Cap!” Tony shouted, as he handed a calibrator to Loki, “Alright tall stuff, hit that top nodule once more and let’s tweak it, it’s shaking up there more than I’d like, but if we change the frequency of that node, it should even it out.”

Loki reached over Tony’s shoulders towards the railing of the scanner. Tony’s original design had called for something smaller, almost portable in shape and size, but scaled down that size, the device couldn’t handle the energy spikes while registering shifts in the fabric surrounding Earth and the first design had spectacularly exploded. Tony had been more upset that “watching fireworks” wasn’t on the list he’d given Loki than he had been about the device actually exploding on them (and they thought Loki was the crazy one).

The rebuilt version mimicked the size and shape of the portal entrance to the bifrost but was powered by a miniaturized arc reactor, a design that Tony’s computer modules had shown would be most likely to channel the energy sufficiently to scan for openings in the space-fabric without actually creating a pathway into the laboratory.

Or as Jarvis had said, “It appears this design structure is less likely to create a wormhole than to simply explode. Again. Sir.”

If it worked—and, Loki grimaced as he twisted the calibrator into place and waited for the click-click hum of the frequency change, that was a big if—the readings should provide a way to monitor the pathways to Midgard without actually journeying on those pathways. This wasn’t, after all, an Einstein Rosen bridge. It would just look for Einstein Rosen bridges. Maybe. Hopefully. If it didn’t explode.

“I thought you guys were taking a break from this thing after last week’s fire alarm,” Rogers said, nodding to the device behind Loki, “and why does it look more and more like a portal every time I come down here?”

“Because humans have limited capacity for imagination?” Loki smirked, and Tony barked a laugh, “Check the vibrations now, Tony.”

Rogers rolled his eyes but handed Loki a green mug, and Loki looked up to see Tony inhaling the contents of a similarly designed red mug. 

“Thanks for the coffee, mom,” Tony muttered, and Loki smirked at Roger’s exasperated expression. “The vibrations look good now. Less vibrate-y. Steve, if you’re going to stick around, super-soldier or not, you have to put on some goggles. You can wear the pink ones Loki refused to wear. And you too, Lokes, no damaging the fragile god while on probation. Scout’s honor. And we’re all going to go hide,” Tony pointed to a large metal table he’d upended on its side, blast marks scorched into its surface “behind the blast wall.”

Rogers looked at the table, then at Tony, and turned to Loki. “Is he serious? I thought he’d be slightly more responsible with you down here to watch him.”

Loki took another sip of his coffee and shrugged in response.

“Hey!” snapped Tony, “I’m responsible! I made a blast wall! Now move it or leave, Capsicle!”

The three hunkered down behind the table, and Tony handed Loki the tablet linked to the output readings. Loki watched the monitor as Tony tweaked the energy levels, and prepared for a sixty second test. 

“Dummy, be ready in case this one explodes too. Alright, test one of the PDD, Mark 2. Activating on my mark…. Three. Two. One. Mark!”

An eerie blue light not much different from Tony’s reactor tinted the light of the room, accompanied by a high pitched hum, and Loki heard Rogers whispering in amazement as the super-soldier peeked over the edge of the table while Tony was laughing with glee beside him.

“Stable. No power fluctuations. Checking output.” Tony muttered, tapping furiously at the controls.

Loki looked back to the tablet in his hands. He knew Jarvis was recording and processing the data, but Loki watched as the static motion readings on the tablet stabilized, then shifted again, and stabilized. Without data points, Tony had said that it would be impossible for them to tell what the output meant, not until they could compare the readings with the data SHEILD had on New Mexico, but underneath those readings, there was another line forming, something that Loki wasn’t so sure was related.

“Tony?” Loki said, then a little louder when Tony didn’t respond. “Tony!”

“What, huh? Whatcha got Prancer?” Loki pointed to the small thread beneath the background noise, and Tony hunched over next to him.

“Huh. It’s not a pathway, not enough energy based on the readings on the portals we’ve seen. It’s more like…. a thread? Like a long cord. But what’s it attaching to? Look at this resonance here, it acts like it’s a pathway in the energy signature, but it’s deactivated. I thought that wasn’t possible. Lo-Lo, didn’t you say that the pathways wouldn’t show up when not active?”

Loki went numb, a tingle traveling down his spine and across his shoulders. A cord, down one of the hidden pathways, not active but attached, and not detectible but for the over-powered device that Tony had created.

“Shut it off! Shut it off! SHUT IT OFF!” Loki screamed as he threw the tablet to the ground, blue skin spreading outward from his fingertips. Tony scrambled to kill the power output, his fingers furiously racing across the control panel, and the light flared blue for a moment before falling away and the workshop florescent lighting illuminated the room.

Loki’s hands were shaking, and he willed the blue to not spread past his elbows, his breaths coming in rapid pants as Tony hovered by his side, hands brushing carefully against Loki’s hair and neck. Rogers had ripped off the pink test goggles and braced himself in front of the table, as though he expected the not-actually-a-portal to suddenly transport someone into the laboratory, and through the rushing noise in his ears, Loki could hear Rogers talking to Romanova over his comm.

“Fuck Loki, what’s wrong? Lokes? What is it?” Tony said, “Jarvis, pull the last readings and put it up on holo.” 

Loki whimpered as Jarvis displayed the energy readings; on the holo, the background noise showed up as a three dimensional static line that rose and fell like a mountain range, with the sharp reading variations in the fabric of space due to the proximity of the sun, but the solid blue line all but hidden in the background noise on the tablet stood out sharply. It wasn’t on the same frequency as the background noise, and it didn’t fluctuate.

“Shut it down Jar.” Tony whispered, carefully putting an arm around Loki’s shoulders. The blue had faded, but only just, and Loki leaned heavily into Tony’s chest. “It’s him, isn’t it,” Tony asked.

“Yes.”

“Him what? Tony, what the hell is going on?” Rogers demanded, and Loki heard the workshop’s doors slide open, the quiet clicking of heels on the floors telling him that Romanova had arrived.

“Team meeting, Cap. Probably need to tell SHIELD too. Fuck it, let’s just go visit Nicky-boy, this will make his day.”

“What, already? You just tested the damn thing.”

Tony pulled Loki to his feet. “We think the static line on the test frequency is like a tracking device, a sliver of a connection maintained at too low a frequency to pick up or reverse. And unless there’s anyone else hanging around Earth with a pissed off intergalactic asshole mad at them for a failed invasion…”

Rogers crossed his arms. “In English, that means that whoever it was that tortured Loki prior to sending the Chitauri invasion… is still tracking him?”

“Yeah.” Tony said, “And we don’t know what happens if that tracker line gets powered up.”

“Right. I’ll get the jet,” Romanova ordered, “We leave for the Helicarrier in ten.”


	9. Holding Hands for the First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Loki let his forehead rest on the table, just for a moment. Beside him, he could hear Tony’s soft snores; the mortal had sprawled out in the chair the moment Agent Hill had stepped out, and the genius’s eyes had fallen shut mid-sentence. 

He had lost track of how many hours it had been since he last slept. He hadn’t been this tired since… well, it had been a while. Loki remembered napping on the couch in the workshop, when Tony was tracking down a power flux issue, but that was at least a day ago. Before Rogers brought them coffee. Before the first test. 

Before Loki knew The Other could find him again.

Loki inhaled sharply, and held his breath, counting slowly behind his closed eyelids. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He was safe. Tony was less than a foot away. They were on the helicarrier, surrounded by SHIELD agents and the Avengers (and since when did that qualify as safe?).

The door to the conference room opened again, but Loki didn’t move. Rogers was still in the room, and Tony was beside him, he was safe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“Why the fuck are the wonder-twins sleeping on my conference table?” a gruff voice barked, and Loki tensed as Fury shouted. “Stark! Wake the fuck up!”

Loki turned to watch as the sleeping genius lifted a one-fingered salute in Fury’s direction without opening his eyes, and in his exhausted delirium Loki giggled at the indigent sound Fury made.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Stark. We gave you quarters here so I wouldn’t have to see your stupid ass drooling on my furniture. Take your sidekick and go, Hill’s working on the data and there’s nothing more I need from you little shits right now. You’ve already given me _enough_ trouble for one day.”

Tony groaned but sat up, nudged Loki in the side. “Come on Lokes, we’re not wanted here. Call me if anything comes up, Cyclops.”

“Get. Out.”

Rogers clapped Tony and Loki on the shoulders as they passed by, and Loki thought he could hear the super soldier mutter something to Tony, but he was too tired to care. The mortal took Loki by the elbow and led him down the corridor. 

Tony’s quarters on the helicarrier were small, even by human standards. In the corner was a storage unit designed by Tony himself for the suit, and a bed that folded down from the wall. The bed was not quite full sized, but Tony shrugged off his hoodie and shoes before crawling into the pillows. Loki sat carefully on the edge, and looked around the room. It was all gray and military lines, nothing soft or welcoming, and Loki was tempted for a moment to leave Tony to his rest, for surely getting some air on the upper deck and seeing the sun would be better. 

But then there was a pressure on his wrist, and he turned to see Tony pulling at his arm, pulling him towards the pillows. 

Loki kicked off his shoes. Tony had bought him something he called ‘kicks,’ made by a craftsman named Converse, and for some reason Agent Hill had found the sight of Loki wearing the shoes so hilarious last month that Loki made a point of always showing up at SHIELD in a pair. Slowly, he dragged himself toward the pillows and rested his head near Tony’s. The hand encircling his wrist hadn’t loosened as the god laid down, but rather had tightened as Tony tucked Loki’s wrist still encircled by his fingers against the mortal’s chest. 

“Lights,” Tony mumbled, and the room fell into darkness. The muted reflection of Tony’s arc reactor lit the space between them, and Loki blinked once, twice.

“Say it, Snowflake.” Tony whispered, “I can feel you thinking too hard over there.”

Loki sighed. “It would be wise to send me back to Asgard if the The Other is tracking me.”

“No.”

“But-“

“No. You yourself said that they wouldn’t understand. That no one would believe you, about what The Other did. Not an option. We already had enough trouble getting the probation terms approved. All-Daddy can go fuck himself.”

Loki tried to pull his hand back, but Tony tightened his grip. The pressure wasn’t painful, just solid and tight, like a security blanket wrapped around his pulse point.

“But The Other will come after me. Eventually.” 

Tony turned his grip on Loki’s hand to entwine their fingers. “Maybe. And we’ll be ready. But you don’t know that he wouldn’t come after Earth anyway. Hate to say it, Lo-Lo, but this one isn’t all about you. And whatever happens, we’ll get through it.” Tony reached out with his free arm and pulled Loki closer, tucking the god’s head under his chin against his shoulder, entwined fingers flitted between their chests. “For now, sleep. Coffee can’t even fix this level of tired. And that’s like sacrilegious, to the great and sacred gods of caffeination. Only gods I worship. Though I’ve thought about reviving some of the old Norse legends, you know, there’s supposedly this god of mischief that’s kinda awesome.”

Loki chuckled tiredly but didn’t pull away. “Goodnight, Tony.”


	10. First Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all you lovely people. We’ve reached Step Ten, which means this thing is 1/10th of the way done in, um, five days. I think this means I have issues. But luckily for me, all of you have the same issues. So we’re going to have issues together. Yay?

It was several days after Loki had tacked up a Rorschach-like glittering image that sort of looked like a star with streaks behind it, if you squinted and looked closely, that he cornered Tony in the workshop. 

He hadn’t been down to help Tony out since they had first activated the Portal Detection Device, which Tony had taken to calling the HERB Finder (“It stands for 'Help its an Einstein-Rosen-Bridge'! It’s genius! Shut up Loki!”). And now, while SHIELD determined what to do with this new information, the HERB Finder sat covered by the sheet Tony had thrown over it upon their return.

“Stark, you read this list before you gave it to me, right?”

“Yes, Lo-Kitty.” Tony’s legs were visible from underneath an ancient-looking contraption, an older looking red automobile that Loki could barely imagine riding in for fear of rattling his brains out in, but he’d learned the hard way that the mortal was overly fond of his collection. 

“Why, what’s next?” Stark asked.

“Step ten, first kisses.”

A metallic clang and a muffled curse echoed from underneath the car. Loki bit his lip to hide his grin.

“So I’m curious, then.” Loki teased, “Did you read the list all the way to step ten? Because it seems that I remember a particular someone only a few weeks ago telling me that he found _me_ attractive.”

“I believe my exact words were ‘goddamn sexy bastard,’ but in my defense you were having a bit of a meltdown. Couldn’t tell you that you’re ugly and smell like poppy seeds when you’re going blue on me.”

Loki huffed a laugh and sat down on the floor beside Tony’s legs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Stark. For one, Rogers told me what poppy seeds are, so you can stop telling me I smell like them since they don’t smell.”

“Correction, Lo-Lo. Cooked poppy seeds on hamburger buns do not smell. Poppy seed tea? Very much smells. Steve has not been to… well, anywhere interesting except when they were shooting at him during the war. So, Mr. Getting-My-Pop-Culture-References-from-the-Capsicle, for your information, it very well does smell. Like you.”

Tony used his feet to edge himself out from the car, and looked over as Loki handed him a grease rag. “Thanks,” he said, wiping his hands. “And aren’t you still on step eight anyway?”

“I spent a whole ten minutes on that ugly shooting star picture on the icebox, did you not notice? Should I next time tape it to the espresso machine?” 

Tony barked a laugh. “Refrigerator, not icebox. Are you hanging out while Steve sketches or something? I’m going to have to have Jarvis start correcting him before he corrupts you.”

“Stop avoiding the issue, Stark.”

Tony dropped the rag and moved to sit against the car beside Loki. “Lokes… I don’t know what you want me to say. I gave you the list, no expectations attached. Like you said before, it’s supposed to be innocent life experiences. It’s supposed to be about finding experiences to enjoy or good memories. I dunno.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully. “So, I could go ask Romanova for a kiss, and that would qualify as step ten? It doesn’t have to be anyone in particular, just a first kiss?”

Tony coughed, surprised. “Uh. Sure. If you have a death wish.” Tony froze, then turned back to Loki. “Okay, that was badly phrased, because if you have a death wish again, we have to talk about that. But it should I guess sorta be someone you’re comfortable with? Or not. We could go clubbing, kiss a few college co-eds, promise to call them, and then get pizza. Not that I’ve ever done that sort of thing. Of course not.”

Loki watched as Tony fiddled with the toolkit beside him, placing various silver objects inside the box after he swiped the grease from the surface of each tool. His movements were controlled and methodical, patiently placing each tool into an apparently indicated spot, and Loki watched the efficient movements even while the mortal rambled on. His hands had become oily again in the process, and Tony absently wiped a thumb across his jeans, leaving a streak of black across the dark blue denim.

“But kissing Nat, not the best of plans.” Tony continued, “She and Clint have some weird thing going on. Don’t ask about that, by the way, they get weird. And I kept finding nasty shit in my air ducts. I mean, seriously, who the actual fuck buys stink bombs after middle school? And Clint’s just now starting to get over the whole mind control thing. Oh fuck, we should not be discussing this out in the open. Clint will totally kill me. Jarvis, where’s Clint?”

“Agent Barton is presently in the ductwork between his floor and the communal living space.”

“Again? Goddamn it Jar, I thought we closed that off. Where is he getting in?” Tony grumbled, reaching for his tablet on the tool bench, tapping the screen to pull up a holo of the tower’s blueprints. “Jarvis, order me some of those electric wires, like the kind they use in invisible dog fences. And some gray conductive tape that matches the vents.”

“Sir, the wiring used in invisible yard perimeter control for animals requires that the animal wear a collar. Shall I order one in Agent Barton’s size as well?”

When Tony paused to consider the idea, Loki crouched in front of the mortal and took the tablet from his hands. Tony looked up with wide eyes, and Loki leaned forward, taking the mortal’s chin in his hand, and kissed him. In a moment it was over, and Loki stood up. 

“Step ten,” the god smirked. 

As he walked toward the elevator, he heard Tony mutter, “Jarvis, did I just fall asleep? Am I sleeping?”

“No sir, you are very much awake.”

“Fuck.”


	11. Catching Snowflakes On Your Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault. Loki still needs a hug. And Clint needs to get laid, or something. I don't even know.

It couldn’t last, of course. 

It was foolish for him to think, even for a moment, that he could find a place with the strange humans he had found himself stranded with, abandoned to by his so-called family. It was too much to ask for protection from The Other, Loki knew that. He knew that, and yet… 

Loki brushed the glass from his palm, wincing as the shards embedded deeper in his cuts, and looked around the remnants of the room. The fancy TV in Tony’s entertainment room lay in pieces, smashed beyond recognition in a fit of temper, glass and electronic bits littering the floor, and Loki was fairly certain the faint coppery smell was the blood pooling in his hands rather than anything electrical, but he couldn’t see it in the dark of the room and couldn’t be bothered to ask Jarvis.

The AI had been suspiciously quiet, which Loki knew was not a good sign, and he should probably prepare himself, pack a bag. For surely they would send him back to SHIELD now. Or back to Asgard, whenever Thor deigned to drop in again or Heimdall bothered to check in on Asgard’s number one ex-prince on probation. Tony surely wouldn’t want him to stay now.

The evening began innocently enough. 

Loki had joined Tony and a few of his teammates for something that Tony had called a game night. Apparently Midgardians (because fuck calling it Earth if he was going to be kicked off the planet, that’s what) took pleasure in sitting around a table drinking ale and moving small pieces across a board based on the fates of small cubes with dots. The game of choice for the evening was a strategy game known as Risk, one of Rogers’ favorites. And he’d sat down with Tony, Rogers, and Barton, and things had gone okay until he’d captured Barton’s forces, and the man had turned a particular shade of white before he casually mentioned his meeting at SHIELD that afternoon. 

He said: “Fury wants to send bag-of-cats back to Asgard. Because why should we have to fight off another fucking invasion on his behalf.”

“No,” Tony had said automatically, and Barton had chugged his scotch, then leveled a glare at Loki.

“Tony, cut him off from that.” Rogers gestured at the scotch, and Tony moved the scotch bottle out of Barton’s reach.

“It’s not up to you, Stark,” Barton smirked. “Besides, he seems recovered from all this bullshit. Look at him, winning at Risk! Maybe we should just hand him over to this dude that wants him, save Earth or Asgard or whatever the trouble.”

“That’s enough Clint,” snapped Rogers, “We don’t hand over people for torture in this country, regardless of their past crimes. Loki’s already on probation both with Asgard and Earth, and you know as well as I do that his actions on Earth weren’t his own. Stop being a jerk just because Loki took your forces out of the game.”

Barton shrugged. “S’not right, is all.”

“What would you have me do?” Loki had asked above the noise of Tony’s muttered curses beside him. “What price is enough, Barton? You were his puppet for a mere few weeks. I spent almost two years as their _guest_. Would it satisfy you to know about my time there? Would even that be enough for your little revenge fantasies?”

“Loki, you don’t owe this little shit anything. C’mon, we’re done.” Tony’s voice had a pleasant sounding slur to his words. 

“Maybe I would,” challenged Clint. “Do me good to hear about it. What’d they do, punch you a few times? You and Tony fuck while talking about how terrible waterboarding was?”

Tony slammed his glass on the table and charged at Barton at the same time Rogers reached across the table to stop him, upending the game and scattering the pieces. 

“You’re a sick fuck, Clint,” Tony said, shaking free of Rogers’ grip on his arm. “Come on Lokes.”

“All I’m sayin’ is that you’d feel differently if they show up and say, we’ll not fuck up your entire world if you hand over bag-of-cats. S’not like he’s human or anything. Or Asgardian, right?” Clint hiccupped. “Can’t have human rights, eh? S’not human.”

“Oh that’s right, you _humans_ are so noble, so _honorable_. I’ve watched your news channels, you do terrible things to each other.” Loki spat. In one swift move, Loki swept the game from the table, sending pieces and dice flying around the room. Tony reached for his arm but Loki jerked away, his shoulders tensed as Barton casually flicked off a few game pieces from his shoulder.

“And yet for all of this, these pathetic destructive tendencies that humans seem to excel so well at, you have no idea what’s out there. You have no idea what’s waiting for you. You think I’m a monster, Barton? You think I’m a monster for trying to find just the tiniest bit of relief from pain beyond the likes of which you can even imagine?”

“You probably deserved it,” Barton smirked, his eyebrows raising as he remembered something, and with a gleeful cackle he added, “Didn’t Thor say that you tried to kill a whole planet? Probably worth a few deaths for all that…”

“And I was the Merchant of Death, and your best friend’s a master assassin, Birdbrain!” snapped Tony. “Maybe not the best person to be casting stones, you little shit-“

“I lost count of how many times.” Loki said plainly.

Tony’s mouth snapped shut. “What?”

“How many times I died, I lost count. Times that I _thought_ I was dead, or that I wouldn’t survive. Only to be brought back from the brink, to wake up again in The Other’s chambers again, covered in blood and foulness and just wishing, _begging_ , again and again that they would let me die. I don’t remember how many,” Loki choked, “how many times I was certain that this was it, that I would finally be left to die this time, that there was no possible way I could survive my heart exploding in my chest, or my-“ Loki gagged, “my skin forced blue and cut piece by bloody piece to see how large a section of my skin, or my muscles, or bone, or vital organs, or anything they could cut away and remove, before my magic couldn’t compensate, couldn’t heal me, and to finally fall unconscious from the pain and have that last fleeting moment of thinking, this is finally the end, no more, that-“

“Lo-Lo,” Tony reached for his arm but Loki flinched, and the mortal hesitated. 

“If SHIELD sends me back to Asgard, so be it. The Other will come for me there too, if the All-Father doesn’t kill me first. It doesn’t matter. Is that sufficient, Barton? Or would you like to take a pound of flesh as well?” 

This time Tony didn’t hesitate, grabbing onto Loki’s shoulder as though he was going to pull the god into his arms, and Loki snapped at the sudden movement. Before the god registered what he had done, he had slammed his elbow back into Tony’s jaw, and shoved the mortal hard into the wall, with one hand tightening around the mortal’s throat. 

Tony went boneless in his arms, and the sound of rushing water surrounded Loki until he slowly realized just who he’d thrown against a wall, and felt Rogers’ hand resting gently on his shoulder, telling him to release Tony. And Tony just watched him, frightened bronze eyes in brilliant contrast with the calm expression on his face and placating words coming from Rogers’ mouth.

“Loki. Let him go. It’s okay, you’re safe. Let him go.” Rogers said, and Loki relaxed his grip around Tony’s throat, before he dropped his hands and stepped away from Tony. The mortal inhaled sharply and moved to straighten his spine as he leaned on the wall, and Loki looked at his fingers. They were pale, no blue had seeped into his skin, and before Rogers could call SHIELD to revoke his probation, Loki fled. 

His subconscious registered Tony calling after him, and Roger’s shouting at Barton, but all he could see was red, red, red. Until he had sat back on his heels and realized the red was from his hands, and he’d destroyed Tony’s entertainment room.

“Lights, Jarvis,” a voice called from the doorway, and Loki looked up to see Tony crossing the room with a first aid kit in hand. He tsked as he kneeled beside Loki, and gently took his left hand into his own. With quiet efficiency, Tony took tweezers to the glass in Loki’s cuts, and bandaged his palm. After repeating the process with Loki’s right hand, he scanned the god for any other injuries, before tilting Loki’s chin upward. 

Loki closed his eyes in shame. “Sorry about your entertainment room, Stark.”

The mortal chuckled quietly. “Well I did say it was your room didn’t I? Not sure you have much of a future in interior decorating though.”

Loki started to laugh despite himself, but it choked off into a half-formed sob before he could control it.

“Oh, Lokes,” Tony said, “We’re not sending you back. You hear me? You’re not going anywhere. Barton was out of line. Way out of line. If Steve gets his way he’s going to be running laps until he’s dead.”

Loki nodded, not trusting his voice. He shifted forward to examine Tony’s throat, and the mortal caught on. “Ah. You didn’t hurt me Lo-Lo. No bruises, it’s fine. See? We’re good.”

Loki sat back. “How can you possibly say that, I threw you into a wall.”

“At least it wasn’t a window?” Tony chuckled halfheartedly, “Too soon?”

Loki rolled his eyes. The man was incorrigible, how he had survived this long was beyond Loki’s comprehension. But he gave a short nod. If Tony was willing to move past it, Loki would too.

“Yeah? Good. Now come on, we’ve got a special treat outside.” Tony said, tugging on Loki’s elbow.

“Outside?” Loki staggered to his feet.

“Yup,” Tony said, popping the sound of the last consonant in a way he knew bothered Loki. “It’s snowing. Just little flurries, not sticking. So, in honor of how terrible game night has gone, we’re going to instead catch snowflakes on our tongue, cross step eleven off your list, and then get Jarvis to make us hot cocoa. Solves everything. Promise.”


	12. Fresh Baked Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting your presence in the communal kitchen if you are not otherwise engaged.”

Loki sighed, placing his StarkTab on the couch. “Did he say why?”

“No sir, he only inquired as to your current location and present activities, Mr. Lie-Smith.”

“Where is Barton, Jarvis?” 

“Agent Barton departed the tower at 6 AM this morning, sir.”

Loki stood and stretched his arms out over his head. He’d slept terribly the night before, of course. His nightmares were nothing new, but apparently mentioning even a part of his memories from his stay with The Other had left the door open for other horrible experiences he had worked hard to put behind him and to forget. But his subconscious apparently had other plans. 

After the second time Tony had woken him from his night terrors, the god had given up on sleeping in his own bed and trailed sleepily after Tony as the mortal took him into the kitchen for a scotch, then pulled him into Tony’s larger bed and tucked his head into Tony’s neck like that night they’d spent cramped together in Tony’s quarters on the helicarrier.

He’d feel weird about that, actually, if it hadn’t been so comfortable. And maybe that should be weird too, that it was so comfortable.

And now, it had been several hours since Tony had disappeared into his workshop for the day. As had become his pattern, Tony had asked Loki to come assist him with one project or another and Loki had declined. It wasn’t that he believed the proximity to the HERB Finder would renew the connective thread to The Other, but rather Loki didn’t like to be reminded of his impending doom by the seven-foot tall machine draped in Tony’s spare bed sheets.

“Sir?” Jarvis enquired.

“Very well. Please tell Captain Rogers I’m on my way.”

He supposed this was to be expected, that there must be some fallout from game night. Might as well see what the Captain had to say. He quelled the growing knot in his stomach with the memory of Tony’s words the night before, that Rogers was displeased with Barton’s behavior. That Tony said they weren’t going to kick him off the planet back to Asgard. But Rogers was the leader of the Avengers, and well regarded by SHIELD. And, for all his money and influence, Tony wasn’t. 

It had been Rogers’ consent that SHIELD asked for, before Loki could be released to serve his probation under the supervision of the Avengers in Tony’s tower. It was Rogers that SHIELD turned to when Fury had deemed Tony too biased by his own experiences to really know if Loki was telling the truth. 

He straightened his spine and crossed his arms as he stepped out into the communal space of Tony’s tower, affecting a disinterested mien as he strolled into the kitchen. 

“You asked to see me, Captain?” he said, eyes casually scanning to see who else was about in the kitchen. The room was empty with the exception of Rogers behind the granite countertop with a mixture of packages and bowls surrounding him. The Captain looked up and gestured to the barstools lining the counter. 

“Hey Loki. Grab a seat, unless you want to help?”

Loki sat down in the seat closest to the elevator, and glanced around. “I’d offer to help, Captain, if I knew what you were doing?”

Rogers’ mouth upturned at the edges in an expression that Loki had come to learn meant the Captain was awkwardly amused, most prevalent when someone corrected his phrasing of a modern term or piece of technology. The man ran a hand through his blond hair then gestured at the packages on the counter. As he touched each package lightly, he named the contents for Loki.

“Flour. Butter. Eggs. White and brown sugar. Baking soda. Vanilla extract. Salt. And last but not least, chocolate chips. All the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, an old Earth favorite. My mother used to make these, for special occasions.” The Captain smiled again.

Loki leaned back in the stool, opening his mouth to respond before his jaw snapped shut, and he turned to study Rogers as the man carefully cracked the eggs against the rim of a glass mixing bowl.

“You are…” Loki grimaced, uneasy with the warm feeling spreading across his cheeks. “You are baking cookies?”

Rogers shrugged. “Tony sent me a text a few hours ago, mentioned the next step on your list was freshly baked cookies. And you know how Tony cooks.”

“Ah. Yes.” Loki grimaced again, remembering the blackened pancakes that Tony had tried to make, before Jarvis had asked Rogers to come rescue Tony before he burned down the tower. His shoulders tensed as he realized that Rogers knew of the list—had he read the list too? Did all of the Avengers know about this supposed list?

“Thank you, Captain,” he said instead.

“Steve.”

Loki swallowed uncomfortably. “Steve.”

The blinding smile Loki received in response almost made his discomposure worth it, and he watched in silence as Rogers mixed together the butter, sugars, vanilla, and eggs, before stirring in the flour mixture and chocolate chips. As Rogers began spooning the dough onto two trays, he glanced up at Loki and cleared his throat.

“Um. Tony told you last night that we’re not sending you back to Asgard no matter what SHIELD wants to do, right?”

Loki gave the Captain a short nod. 

This was it, he thought, he’d let his guard down again, it was stupid to think the informality that Rogers had requested in his address was not part of a larger plan. Certainly the next thing Rogers would say was that until The Other threatened Earth, he’d be welcomed to stay, but the needs of the many would outweigh the needs of the few, or in particular, the needs of humanity were more important than what happened to Loki. 

And the great and noble Captain America was going to say he was ever so sorry, but if it came down to the Earth versus Loki, he would choose the Earth. It wasn’t anything new, Loki supposed. Asgard had certainly never considered Loki’s needs above those of the kingdom, and Loki could think of several times when he had to do something reprehensible to pull Asgard from the proverbial fire, not the least of which often included unanticipated consequences for Loki.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he almost missed what Rogers said next, as he slid the trays into an oven.

“Good. Because that goes for all of us. The Avengers, I mean. We’re not going to let anyone get to you while you’re vulnerable without your magic, SHIELD or the All-Father, or the Other-whats-his-name and his boss. That’s not how things works in America, at least not in my America, it’s not right. Doesn’t matter what Clint says.”

Loki looked down at his hands, wringing them together in his lap. It was one thing to hear Tony say it, Tony who had seen through his act so easily when he first arrived, under the thrall of The Other and tainted by his rage and hurt and hopelessness from his time in captivity. But for the alleged moral compass of America to agree with Tony? 

It was overwhelming. 

“Loki? You understand what I’m saying, right? ”

Loki looked up to see that the Captain had settled into the chair beside him, with a device that made ticking noises resting beside him on the counter. 

“Yes, Capt- Steve. It’s just that…” Loki sighed, “I’m sorry, it’s going to take some adjustment to accept this.” Steve nodded, and Loki barked a short laugh, “I thought you were going to say- well. Something else entirely. You realize your position is not logical? I’ve repeatedly told Tony that it makes sense to send me back, if The Other or his master are to come looking for me.”

“Maybe it is. But humanity has a great capacity for making decisions based on what is right instead of what is easy.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Loki deadpanned.

The ding of the timer startled both men from their thoughts, and Rogers grinned as he went to take the cookies from the oven. After moving them to a cooling rack, he pulled the milk out of the fridge and poured two glasses. Grabbing a few of the first batch to cool, Rogers sat the plate of cookies in front of Loki, then carried over the glasses of milk. 

“Here you go, step twelve. Have to do it right you know. Cookies and milk. Ancient Earth tradition.”

“Ancient?” Loki teased.

Rogers grumbled “Not you too, Loki. I already have Jarvis now correcting my words whenever I refer to something in ‘old fart vernacular,’ as Tony puts it.”

Loki chuckled, and tried a cookie. The chocolate melted on his tongue, warm and flavorful, and he thought there might be something to Tony’s obsession with this list of things to see on Earth after all. 

“Good?” 

“Very much so,” Loki agreed.

“I’m glad.” Rogers grinned as he took the last one from the plate. “And if you want any more, you have an errand to run first.”

Loki tensed. “An errand?”

Rogers jumped from the chair and pulled out another platter, this one Loki recognized as the unbreakable plates that Rogers tended to bring down to the workshop. While piling cookies onto the platter, Rogers flipped a button on the coffee pot and the familiar smells of a redeye brewing filled the kitchen.

“You get to deliver the rest to the workshop.” Rogers said, after the coffee machine finished its brew cycle. “Stop avoiding that monstrosity hidden underneath the cover and help Tony figure out how to shut down activated pathways instead.”

Loki swallowed hard, but nodded, accepting the plate and picking up Tony’s redeye.


	13. Digging your toes in the dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started reading physics theory and engineering white papers to get the terminology/concepts down for the next few sections, and I sort of got carried away. 
> 
> Updated June 25 to include science ramblings in the end notes, which may contain some spoilers for the future if you squint closely and read between the lines. Read if you're curious, ignore if you aren't.

“Brucie!” Tony shouted from across the workshop, and Loki’s head shot up from where he had been fiddling with the device Tony had concocted that morning, his fingers twitching so abruptly that he lost the frequency Tony had been monitoring. 

“Did you grab the items I asked for, Brucie Bear?” 

Loki watched as the mild-looking mortal picked his way across the detritus of the laboratory, and he quirked an eyebrow as he saw what the man was carrying. Under one arm, Dr. Banner had tucked a plastic sack with green writing, and nestled against his hip in the other arm he held a plastic gray storage bin with multicolored flowers peeking out over the rim.

“Yes, Tony,” Banner sighed. “Where should I put this? And you promised me this was relevant to whatever new thing you’re working on, but all I can see is pizza boxes and an uncovered HERB Finder. And what’s with the upgraded security? I’ve never had to buzz into the workshop before.” Bruce turned to see Loki, still hunched over behind a desk next to Stark’s newest creation. 

“Oh. Loki’s down here,” Banner said. Loki nodded carefully to Banner, his expression as neutral as possible. For a moment he thought he could see the man’s frown, before Banner nodded his greetings and turned back to find Tony. “Security makes sense now. So I take it Clint is still being childish?”

“Not childish, an actual five year old,” Tony said as he rushed around the lab collecting various electronic monitoring devices and a StarkTab.

Banner spun in place as he watched Tony, and smiled easily as he took in the state of the workshop. “So, when’s the last time either of you two slept? Steve mentioned something about sending down cookies two days ago and that neither of you had been seen or heard from since. You know this sort of thing just reinforces Fury’s new nickname for you two.”

“No time for that, read these," Tony said as he grabbed the gray tray and plastic bag from Bruce, and shuffled the tablets into his waiting hands. “Lokes, over here, you’re with me.”

Loki stood up and followed Tony over to the corner of the workshop, near the cleaning bot’s charging station, and sat down on the table as Tony removed what looked to be plastic containers of dirt and potted flowers from the gray storage bin. The mortal then ripped open the plastic bag and began dumping its contents into the bin. Black dirt with a thick, rich smell spilled forth, and Loki sniffed curiously as Tony began to pat down the dirt firmly into the bin.

“Stark, what are you doing?” Loki finally asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Tony grinned, fishing out a spade from one of the plastic plant tins, and handed it to Loki. “Get down here Lokes, we’re going to plant these around the edges of the tub.”

Loki knelt beside Tony and watched as the mortal carefully dug out a small hole for each flower before carefully removing the plant and placing it in the hole. Loki took one of the packages and planted the flowers around the rim of the tub, imitating Tony’s efficient movements.

When the twelve flowers had been placed in a circle around the rim of the tub, Tony dusted off his hands and grinned. “Okay, take your shoes off, and get in.”

Loki chuckled suddenly. “Step thirteen? You are ridiculous, Stark.”

“Less talking, more toes in dirt.”

Banner looked up from his reading. “You’re kidding, right? The closest garden center with bags of dirt is all the way in the East Village. You owe me cab fare, Tony.”

Tony waived him off and looked expectantly at Loki. The god sighed. “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” The genius popped the ‘p’ on the end and Loki grimaced.

“Very well,” Loki slipped off his Converse and stepped into the dirt. He wiggled his toes. “Satisfied?”

“The list says to ‘dig your toes into the dirt’ not ‘wiggle your toes while glaring contemptuously at your best friend.’ Dig down a bit, Lo-Lo!”

Loki growled, “Stark, this is stupid. It’s a bin of dirt, in a workshop, with cheap Midgardian annuals.”

“He’s got a point, Tony. That sort of defeats the intended purpose. Of course if you stop in Central Park to remove your shoes and dig your toes in the dirt, bad things happen.” 

“Just do it, Lokes. I’ll buy you ice cream later.”

Loki rolled his eyes but then dug his toes into the dirt. It was warmer than he expected, as though the plastic bag had been left to warm in the sunshine before Banner purchased it, and the dirt was moist against his skin. The sensation almost reminded him of mud-baths on Vanaheimr. Almost. 

A warm hand grazed his elbow, and he jerked his eyes open, unaware that he’d lost himself to the memory. Tony stood before him with a ridiculous grin on his face, gentle brown eyes looking up at the god. Loki gave the mortal a faint smile. 

“The feel of the dirt, it reminded me of a good memory. A trip to my mother’s-“ Loki cleared his throat, “to Frigga’s homeworld when I was a child.” 

Tony smiled. “Good.”

“Tony, I think I need you to walk me through this.” Banner’s voice from across the workshop was soft, as though he had witnessed a shock and couldn’t quite understand where or what he was experiencing. “The math is right, but you already knew that. But the theory behind this, this is big...”

Tony threw Loki one of the clean grease rags as he headed back towards Banner. “It’s the frequency of that anomaly we found on the HERB Finder, but it’s like nothing we’ve ever seen. It sort of mimics an ERB, but it’s not an ERB.”

“First of all,” Banner said as he took a seat on the couch, “that is the stupidest name, ever, and I think you only like it because it’s a play on the pronunciation.”

“You know me so well, dear,” Tony grinned, “but look, it registers on both ends of the spectrum. Here’s what’s interesting – the readings from New Mexico are fully formed, from the arrival of Thor, his buddies, even the data points we think are when Loki visited.” 

Tony flipped up several diagrams on the holo. “See these? These are Foster’s data points, what she hypothesized to be Lorentzian in nature, but because of the light particles and wavelengths observed, it proves up the Morris-Thorne theory of traversable wormholes held open by a spherical shell of exotic matter.”

Banner signed and rubbed his forehead. “Exotic matter? Remind me again what that’s supposed to be? I know we looked at this when we were looking for the Tesseract,” Banner threw a self-depreciating smile at Loki and the god shrugged as he rejoined them, seating himself on the chair next to where Tony had perched on a metal stool, “but I admit it didn’t impact much in my research on gamma radiation so I didn’t dig any further.”

“Energy. Pure energy, in some form.” Tony sat down on the stool next to Loki’s desk. “Specifically something powerful enough to reverse the polarity and create the tunnel effect. The size is determined by the source and, if Foster’s theories are correct, the neck is finite.”

Banner considered this for a moment, before he sat straight up on the couch, and looked at Loki with wide eyes and exclaimed, “Shit! Loki, you son of a bitch!”

Tony cackled merrily beside him, and Loki turned to look at Tony then Bruce. The pair had identical expressions bordering between awe and excitement, and Loki didn’t know what to make of any of it. He’d helped Tony walk through his theoretical understanding of how the bifrost and other pathways accessible via his magic worked, but once the mortal had started translating those ideas into Earth-specific scientific terminology, Loki hadn’t followed along.

“I’m… sorry?” he asked.

“No, no, don’t be sorry Lokes,” Tony said, placing a hand on the god’s shoulder, “Just answer this question, if you can remember, since it was,” Tony waived a hand dismissively, “back when you were under the influence, so to speak. When you had Selvig build the portal on my tower, why didn’t it syphon the entirety of the Tesseract’s power? Why did it only take a tiny bit of the energy within the Tesseract, just enough to open a portal but not enough to create a larger hole in the space fabric?”

Loki scowled, picking at a fingernail. “I had Selvig build the device based on the power output of that scepter instead of the Tesseract, of course, since at the time we didn’t have the Tesseract. And your mortal readings couldn’t tell that the power differential was that vast, considering that the scepter was made from the Tesseract’s output, so it was easy to hide the error. Magically, the readings were the same but the power was nuanced. I was suicidal, Tony, not completely insane.”

“What?” Banner asked, “But the Tesseract was inside that thing.”

“Yes,” Tony said, as he squeezed Loki’s shoulder; the god clamped his hands together in his lap to hide how terribly his fingers were shaking, “But that’s the point. It was built only to channel a particular amount of energy. It would have eventually exploded under the full Tesseract’s energy, even if Nat hadn’t overloaded it. Is that right, Loki?”

Loki closed his eyes, “I had rather hoped it would explode sooner than it did, but The Other took more interest in Selvig than in Barton, so it would have been too obvious.”

“And he could have tightened his reigns on you then,” Tony put a protective arm around Loki’s shoulders, and Loki sagged into the mortal, “Seen what you were trying to do, if he got further in.”

“Yes. And then it would have been truly hopeless to escape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are at all familiar with Einstein-Rosen bridges or relativity-related/particle physics aside from fandom, I apologize profusely for what is about to happen. If you want a hint about where this is going or want to understand any of the terminology within, I'd recommend the wikipedia section on wormholes as a good primer: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wormhole. 
> 
> The basics are this, but in no way do you need to understand this going forward, it's just for anyone who is curious about the framework discussed in this chapter (because let's face it, no one understands half the shit out of Tony's mouth anyway. Except Bruce. Sometimes. Unless Tony's drinking.):
> 
> 1) In theory, there are two kinds of wormholes, those that are not traversable (aka cannot transmit matter through the space fabric in both directions, and/or can only transmit matter in one direction) and those that are traversable (matter can move in both directions).
> 
> 2) For traversable wormholes, there are two theories as to how those are formed (with both theories creating some problems for our current model of understanding physics/the universe/life in a post-relativity world). Neither one has been "proven" or "tested" completely as correct with our current understandings, though there are elements of both that seem to apply. 
> 
> 3) For purposes of fan fiction, I've chosen one theory as to how the portals are created and what is needed to create portals, aka Einstein-Rosen bridges across the space fabric. I'd guess this is the same one Marvel choose, otherwise the power source like the Tesseract wouldn't be needed to create the opening if there were other ways to stabilize it. Note this means I'm ignoring the "space gem" qualities for now, because Science > Magic.
> 
> 4) The pathway detected against the backdrop of the background noise by the HERB Finder is registering/oscillating both in lower waves that are standardly detectable and in higher, faster "particle" waves that take special tools to visualize/would look like cosmic radiation from the sun/universe/sky to anyone not monitoring it properly. That's why no one else on Earth is noticing it, because it would appear random and not to be "communications" from elsewhere. Hence, the HERB Finder.
> 
> 5) So my postulation here is that the pathway connecting Loki to The Other is a non-traversable wormhole with low power attached to it to maintain the rim (the connection) but not high enough to send anything through (or to retrieve - which direction does the non-traversable wormhole go? Nobody knows).
> 
> 6) In this understanding, the bifrost would also be a more powerful non-traversable wormhole in that it goes one direction only. You can open it to move in either direction, but when it is open, it does not move in both directions at once. Whereas the portal in the Avengers is clearly traversable because Iron Man is able to fly through it with the nuke.
> 
> 7) I now know way more about particle physics and wormholes than I ever anticipated, but I am ignoring the discrepancies between traversable wormholes and relativity/particle physics as something that our current model for understanding physics and electromagnetism/particles/etc. does not yet address. So this is officially AU science as well?
> 
> 8) I wish I could say this level of research was abnormal for me, but last week I spent two hours researching the history of various children's shoe brands in the US/Canada versus UK. So no, this is not unusual. Sorry not sorry.
> 
> Also, there will be a pop quiz sometime after chapter 25.
> 
> Joking. Sort of...


	14. Listening to the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Loki’s fingers tapped across the table as he glanced around the room. He wished desperately that SHIELD hadn’t called a meeting for today of all days, when Tony was stuck at a shareholder’s meeting all day. Of course that hadn’t stopped the mortal from trying to cancel the meeting at the last minute, when Fury had demanded Loki’s presence for an afternoon debriefing, but Pepper’s response had been… well, Loki smirked, let’s just say it was probably in Earth’s favor that Pepper was a force for good in the world, because her creative threats had shocked even the tower’s resident god of mischief into stunned silence.

And here he sat, waiting for Fury to deign to appear at the supposedly urgent conference he had demanded. And Loki hadn’t even thought to bring a book or his StarkTab to work on while he waited. 

Rogers paced around the circular conference table, his usual khakis replaced with something Tony referred to as 'yuppie pants' that made a sshh-sshh sound as the man paced. 

To Loki’s right, Banner tapped away at his Starkphone, the light of the phone reflecting on the man’s glasses what appeared to be schematics for the device Tony decided to call the Disco-Bolo. From what Loki understood of the rapid-fire conference call the genius had set up with several colleagues a few days ago, the Disco-Bolo detected the wavelengths of the pathway that the HERB Finder had found.

Agent Hill, as usual, preceded Fury’s arrival, and Loki quirked an eyebrow as the Agent entered and her eyes immediately went to his footware. He stuck his foot out further as she came to stand beside the table, studying his shoes. 

“Really Loki? Black and green now… wait, does that say ‘Dept. of Metal’ on the side?” she shook her head, and let out an exasperated sigh. “Where the hell is Stark finding these?”

Loki smirked. “Internet mail order. As the last time Tony tried to take me shopping in the city and out for lunch, SHIELD so rudely interrupted.”

Hill took her place across the table and waved at Rogers to sit, as she pulled up her screen on the table surface, tapping out commands. “Yes, well, if I remember the outing correctly, you violated the terms of your probation so that Stark could make you step on wet leaves. Had it been anyone else making such an outlandish excuse, we’d have not believed it, but Stark has ways of being difficult that even we don’t comprehend.”

“An intelligence organization that doesn’t understand a genius? How ironic,” Loki said.

“Your punk ass shouldn’t be making comments about our intelligence organization.” Fury called out as he strolled into the room, startling Loki. He thought he hid the twitch in his shoulders well, but Rogers glanced at him with a furrowed brow and claimed the other seat to Loki’s left.

“Captain Rogers, Banner, to what do we owe the pleasure? I don’t remember asking you to attend this meeting.” Fury paced slowly around the room.

Banner smiled as he put away his phone. “That’s right Director, you didn’t. Tony asked us to come with Loki, since Tony’s tied up all day at the Stark Industries annual shareholders meeting. But you couldn’t have possibly known he’d be unavailable today, of all days, when his very large and very public company holds its annual shareholders meeting.”

“Do I look like a secretary to you? I don’t keep track of Stark’s schedule. But since you are here anyway, let’s make a few things clear.” Fury leaned forward over the table, fixing his one-eyed gaze on Loki, and Loki raised his chin. “I don’t give a damn what Captain Rogers has told you, but Barton’s right. As long as the asshole you worked for,”

“Forcibly-“ interjected Loki. 

“As long as the asshole you _allegedly_ forcibly worked for is tracking your location, your presence is a danger to my planet. And if it were up to me or to the Council, your crazy ass would be on a one-way ticket to Asgard or the center of the sun, anywhere besides Earth. But unless your alien brother-“

“ _Not_ my brother,” Loki interrupted again.

“-shows up to retrieve Asgard’s trash, we’re stuck with you. So until that day comes, I want to know everything about The Other, about Thanos, about where you supposedly spent two years after leaving Asgard. I want to know what The Other eats, how he takes a shit, what reality TV shows he watches. _Everything_. Including what he’s capable of and all the ways he tried to kill you.”

“Director!” Rogers interrupted, his cautious glance not lost on Loki. 

Loki pulled out the Starkphone Tony had given him, and clicked on the side button. “Jarvis, please make a note for me. I’d like to count Director Fury’s current rant as step fourteen on the list, ‘listening to the wind.’”

Fury’s shouts of “List? What list?” drowned out Jarvis’s response, but Loki knew the AI had gotten the message.

“It’s of no importance, Director. Or rather, it’s of importance only to me. And I’ve already told you everything I recalled of my stay with The Other. I won’t discuss those matters again.” Loki sniffed, examining his fingernails as though the conversation had ceased to entertain him.

“You _will_ discuss it again, or have you forgotten the provision of your parole, the one that says you will answer _any_ and _all_ questions from SHIELD?” Fury shouted.

“I hate to be a buzz-kill Director, but you do realize that just yesterday Tony found actual evidence based on the New Mexico readings from Thor’s first visit that Loki’s telling the truth about New York?” Banner said, pulling out his phone again and punching a few areas on the display.

“Wait, what?” Rogers asked.

“He proved that Loki’s portal-making device was rigged to explode on its own, and kept the size of the portal intentionally small, limiting the invading force. All under the nose of The Other.”

Agent Hill’s eyebrows shot up, but Fury continued. “Not good enough. I want details. Barton said The Other tried to cut of your skin piece by piece. Why? What did he want? What did he ask you to do?”

“He didn’t want anything! He didn’t _ask_ anything of me!” Loki spat, “I was kept half dead for years before he even spoke to me, before I even knew who it was that took me to within inches of death, only to _yank_ it away like the proverbial carrot!”

“And when you almost died,” Fury continued calmly, “How did he bring you back to life again? You told Barton you actually may have died, numerous times, but in my experience, you Asgardians aren’t all that easy to kill. You aren’t some abomination of alien parts and DNA now, are you?”

“No, I’m just as much an alien now as before my stay with The Other.” Loki said, his voice unsteady. His heart sped up, and Loki willed his fingers to relax, placing his hands on his legs as he dug his fingers hard into his thighs to stop the shaking.

“So how did you survive? _What_ did you survive?” Fury punctuated each question with a pounding fist on the table.

“Everything. I survived everything.” Loki said simply. “Think of something terrible that you humans have done to one another. Imagine the worst torments you can possibly invent with your pithy minds, and it was worse than that. Worse than anything I’ve read about human atrocities.”

“I find that hard to believe. Humans are pretty creative, _when_ we need information.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Banner said, standing up. “I don’t really think that’s necessary, Fury. I mean, I just told you that Tony has proof-”

“Stark is a child with a new toy.” Fury countered.

“What does it really matter what happened to Loki?” Rogers said, “We already know he didn’t act of his own will, what good is it to know what happened?”

“Because. I want to know what kind of monsters are out there, looking for our friend here. And whether they will take what they came for, or want more.” 

Fury smiled, and Loki felt sick, as though he was watching the human version of that vicious beast he’d seen during the television program that Tony had called ‘Shark week’. The beasts swam in rivers of blood after a kill, and the show had invoked nightmares, the memory of similar teeth too easy to visualize against the red of the water. 

All Fury needed was blood on his lips; the feral grins were the same.

Rogers argued with Fury, but Loki couldn’t understand his words any longer. He thought he could see Banner ducking out of the conference room, his shirt rippling in strange waves as though the beast within fought for dominance, and Loki whimpered, leaning forward as he felt the memories pressing in from all sides.

And red, so much red, and black, and vibrant, sickly yellow of infections, these colors he remembered well. The black of the void as he fell had nothing on the time that followed. Falling was easy, quiet, like waiting for the inevitable to finally catch up, and he couldn’t think after a while as he fell, couldn’t remember why he had thought letting go was better than staying in Asgard, except that he would see red whenever he thought of Odin, thought of his betrayal, of never being good enough, of never being enough.

He couldn’t see his hands in front of his face anymore, were his eyes even open? The pounding in his ears drowned out everything else, but some small creature whimpered nearby, and he could see it all, every time he’d died, every terrible thing that he’d tried so desperately to forget. The one time that The Other had decided to see how long Loki could survive without food. The time when The Other had Loki flogged with primitive tools until his back and legs were shredded beyond recognition. Then the time he decided to do that _again_ , but let the infected wounds fester until the smell of his own skin left Loki vomiting up his meager rations.

There was a warm pressure on his shoulder, and Loki cringed, waiting for the blow.

What was he waiting for? Was this a new game The Other played at? The warmth was inviting, rubbing small circles now on his back, and above the cacophony of the rushing sound in his ears he thought he heard a soothing voice calling his name. But no one ever asked his name. No one cared who he was or where he was from. No one spoke to him, hadn’t for years. 

“Loki, you’re safe. Shhhh. I promised you, we’d protect you, remember? You’re safe. Loki can you hear me? God, Tony’s going to flip his wig about this. You’re safe, Loki. We do what is right, not what is easy. Remember?”

Loki exhaled, releasing the tension in his lungs as his hands went to his face, rubbing at the wetness trailing across his cheeks. “Steve.”

He heard the whoosh of the man’s exhale as the hand still rubbing his back faltered, but then Rogers squeezed his shoulder. “That’s right. It’s Steve. We’re alone in the conference room at SHEILD. Actually, we’re leaving as soon as you’re able. Happy’s outside waiting.”

Loki opened his eyes. The conference room was empty, innocuous now that Fury had left, and Loki scrubbed at his face. “Let’s go.”

Back at the penthouse, he found Tony watching a movie from the living room couch, three fingers of scotch already poured in two tumblers on the coffee table. 

“You’re home early,” Loki muttered as he slumped into the couch.

“Bruce called Pepper,” Tony handed Loki a glass. “I think Pepper likes you better than me. I never got out of meetings when I had panic attacks.”

Loki inhaled, letting the familiar scent wash over him, centering him, before he took a heavy sip. The scotch burned over his tongue, smooth and warm and lighter in texture than what he was used to in Asgard, but rich and inviting. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Tony asked.

Loki shook his head, taking another sip.

“Want me to see if I can buy SHIELD? Or at least price how much it would cost to put a hit on Fury?”

Loki finished his scotch, and slumped sideways, letting his head rest on Tony’s leg. If Tony noticed that his hands were shaking, he didn’t say anything to Loki as he pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa over Loki’s shoulders then tangled his fingers in Loki’s hair, as the gentle scratches against his scalp lulled Loki to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the shoes that Hill commented on, [this](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/90047053735/if-youre-curious-about-the-shoes-that-hill) is what I used as a model. You can actually buy and customize a pair like these in the UK - see [here](http://www.converse.co.uk/#/landing/editions) for details.


	15. Singing to your favorite song on the radio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

When Loki arrived at the workshop that afternoon, he first noticed that Tony’s usual heavy metal music selection had been altered. Instead, Tony had playing a sound that could only be described as more acoustically inclined than his usual selections. Culturally, Asgard stalled thousands of years ago; the ballads performed at the present day were the same as when Asgard had last taken an interest in the humans’ Nordic culture. And Loki had always hated the traditional sounding Asgardian instruments, with their horns and pounding timber, but Earth offered an entirely too broad of a selection. Steve had introduced him to jazz a few weeks ago, and Tony’s heavy metal and rock and roll had become almost a necessity when Loki attempted to concentrate in the workshop, but these sounds were almost lyrical, filled with pain and joy and such fleeting human emotions, as though someone had updated the old ballads against modern Earth instruments.

“Lo-Lo!” Tony called, his hands covered in grease and with huge panels of the HERB Finder opened beside him. “Come sit down, watch the Disco-Bolo and tell me when it spikes. Also, keep an ear out, you need to pick a song.”

Loki smirked as he sat down and adjusted the screen for his height. “Let me guess Stark, this is another item on the list?”

“Not precisely, sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “The list requires that one select a favorite song from the radio, but Mr. Stark does not care to access the local radio stations. So I’ve taken the liberty of selecting the top twenty songs from current popular music charts and intermixing those with several songs based on an algorithmic calculation of what audio stimulation has appealed to you during your stay in the tower based on visual and physical stimuli present-”

“Okay Jarvis, he gets it.” Tony said.

“As you wish, Sir.”

“So Lokes, just pick a song, and, um, sing it.”

Loki chuckled, “Sing it? Jarvis, could you please recite step fifteen in its entirety for me. Tony’s under the impression it requires singing.”

“Hey! It does!” Tony protested as he twisted a rather large looking wrench into the machine. 

“Sir is correct, Mr. Lie-Smith. Step fifteen is indeed ‘singing to your favorite song on the radio’.” 

“Damn,” muttered Loki. “Alright Jarvis, modify the selection to limit it to those that will match my vocal range and reduce by those that are close to my algorithmic choices, and send the lyrics for those that are ranked highest in similarities to my tablet.”

“Very well, Sir.”

Loki looked up to find Tony staring at him with a dazed expression, his work monetarily forgotten and a lump of grease smeared across the mortal’s cheek. “What? Did I stutter?”

Tony grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s sexy when you talk algorithms to my AI.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Stark.”

As Tony clanged away at the HERB Finder modifications, Loki, keeping one eye on the Disco-Bolo readings, skimmed through the lyrics of the songs Jarvis selected, a careful ear listening to the songs as they scrolled through one by one.

Suddenly Loki sat up. “Jarvis, replay that one,” he ordered.

Tony looked up from the HERB Finder, the panels replaced. “You like this one? Huh. Wasn’t expecting you to like dance music. We really should go clubbing.”

Loki ignored the mortal as the lyrics flashed up on his tablet and he scrolled through the words. It was perfect. He felt his chest contract as the song replayed, the lyrics reverberating around the workshop, swelling within his heart, and absently Loki began tapping his foot to the beat. 

He had liked the jazz music Steve had played for him, but there was something more soulful in these lyrics, something that tugged at his core, as though the beat registered in the very place where his magic resided and soothed the hurts he still held close to his chest. Is this what music did to everyone on Earth, did all humans feel like this? Or was this a side effect of having seidr? No wonder humanity had thrived since Asgard last took an active interest, there was so much raw passion in just this simple recording. If all of humanity felt this when listening to music, then truly they couldn’t lose against Thanos, against The Other, if- he grimaced, -when they came for him.

On the third repetition, Loki began humming the tune, and on the fifth, Loki surrendered all pretenses of dignity, closed his eyes, and sang.


	16. Collecting shiny things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“Loki, have you seen my cufflinks? Could swore I left them on the minibar.”

Loki glanced up from his book. “Cufflinks?”

“Shiny metal with an arm extending that swivels back and forth. Goes in dress shirts. I wore them to the shareholder meeting a few days ago.”

“Can’t say I’ve seen your cufflinks, Stark.”

“Hmm.” Tony muttered as he wandered off.

___________________________________________________________________

“First my beer cooler and now my goddamn coffee mug.”

“What does it look like, Clint? Maybe it just got misplaced when the dishes were last put up?” Rogers asked.

“No. Don’t wash it. Silver, has an arrow on it.”

“So let me get this straight.” Tony interrupted, as he and Loki crossed the floor of the communal kitchen, Tony helped himself to a cookie Rogers had laid out. “You’re missing a mug, that you always drink coffee out of, that you never wash? That’s gross, Birdbrain.”

“Shut up Stark.”

___________________________________________________________________

“Anyone home?” Rogers called from the elevator door, as he knocked on the frame.

The unnecessary knock after the elevator dinged alerted Loki and Tony that Rogers had arrived at the penthouse. The good Captain knocked every time he exited the elevator. Never mind that he was the only one of the Avengers besides Banner that could access the penthouse without Tony keying them in directly. Never mind that no one else knocked once the elevator arrived. Ever.

“Hiya Cap!” Tony called over his coffee, his eyes not leaving the StarkTab set up against the salt shaker. “Whatcha doing?”

“Have either of you seen my metallic pencils set? I thought I left them on the roof when I was sketching the other day, but I couldn’t find them and they’re not in my art box, either.”

Tony looked up. “They make metallic pencils? Cap, let me hook you up with a state of the art StarkTab, you can draw with metallic pencils, brushes, whatever your heart desires at the touch of a button. Screen. Whatever.”

Rogers waved him off, “It’s not the same Tony. Guess I’m going to the art store later anyway. You guys going back to the lab today?”

“Yup. Testing an enhanced Disco-Bolo. There might be dancing involved. Did you know Loki can sing?”

“Stark!” snapped Loki.

“Gorgeous voice.” Tony nodded sagely.

Rogers grinned. “Maybe we’ll do karaoke as a team building exercise soon.”

“Then let’s be thankful I’m not an Avenger.” Loki grumbled.

“Aw, Lo-Lo, don’t be like that!” Tony stood, finishing his coffee on the way to dump his dirty dishes in the sink. “Don’t worry Cap, I’ll send you Jarvis’s recording.”

“STARK!”

___________________________________________________________________

Banner arrived late afternoon, the doors to the workshop sliding open for the Doctor as he meandered in. Loki stood beside Tony as the mortal manipulated the holo-readings from the Disco-Bolo, expanding and contracting the projections as he studied the oscillations in the frequency.

“Guys? Did I leave my worry stone down here?”

Loki glanced through the holograms. “What is a worry stone, Doctor Banner?”

“Green, moss-colored. Supposed to put your thumb in the indentation and rub it when worried. Mine’s for mental energies, supposedly. Different gemstones mean different things.” Banner paused to shift aside a few papers on one of the workshop tables before he wandered through the workshop, his eyes scanning the tabletops as he strolled.

“That is… surprisingly sentimental, Doctor Banner.” Loki responded. “Does it work?”

“Sorta. It’s kinda like meditating. Guess I’ll go pick up another one, they sell them at the health food store down the street.” Bruce sighed, making his way back towards the door, “Oh, and Loki? Call me Bruce. I’ve already seen video of you singing, Doctor Banner just sounds wrong now.”

As the door slid shut behind Banner, Loki spun around to find Tony desperately biting his lip to keep a straight face.

“Stark!” Loki shouted.

Tony cackled, and Loki shoved him so hard he fell through the holo-readings onto the couch behind him. The infernal mortal curled up laughing, great heaving guffaws that left him breathless, and Loki’s own face betrayed him with a small smirk curling the edge of his lips.

___________________________________________________________________

“Don’t even think about it.”

Loki looked up in surprise, to find Agent Romanova repelling down from the roof of the tower to land on the penthouse balcony. As Romanova unhooked her harness and secured the ropes she’d descended from under one of the balcony chairs, Loki dog-eared his book. Romanova carefully perched on the edge of the seat she’d secured the ropes beneath, and pointed at the book Loki had abandoned. 

“What are you reading?”

Loki flipped the spine over to reveal the title, and Romanova nodded. “That’s a good book. Not the most uplifting, but a very good study of human nature. You’ll grok it.”

Loki let the faintest of smiles touch his lips. “What do you want, Agent Romanova? You don’t pay social visits normally.”

One of Romanova’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lifted, and she smiled, this time with teeth. Loki squirmed in his seat. 

“Stark’s cufflinks. Roger’s pencils. Banner’s worry stone. Clint’s silver coffee mug. Whatever it is of mine that you plan on pilfering next, don’t even think about it.”

“Agent Romanova, I don’t know what you are referring to.” He faked a scandalized expression, letting his anger show through. “Wait, are you implying that I have _stolen_ these items from your teammates? Simple things that they’ve quite obviously misplaced themselves?”

She grinned suddenly, then threw her head back and laughed. “And Stark thinks he’s a genius. Does he not know what step sixteen is?” she finally said when she paused to inhale.

“Damn.” Loki cursed. “Again with the list. Does anyone _not_ know about the list?”

Romanova grinned. “Clint doesn’t know about it.” She stood, reconnecting the ropes to her harness and secured an ascending loop as well to the base of her harness. 

With practiced ease she began ascending the rope, the cables making a soft shht-click noise as she climbed, and she turned to look down at Loki, who was shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun off the tower windows. “Just return everything by the end of the week and I won’t tell anyone that our resident god of mischief is also a magpie. Except Tony’s cufflinks, I think. Because you really like having those in your pocket, don’t you?”

Loki felt his cheeks flame, and Romanova laughed again as she disappeared over the lip of the roof.

“Damn,” he muttered again, but his heart felt full as he put a hand in his pocket to finger the cool metal cufflinks.


	17. Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“Surprise!” they shouted as the doors to the elevator opened.

Loki’s eyes snapped up quickly to see the entirety of the Avengers, Earth’s _mightiest_ heroes, standing stupidly around the communal living room with multicolored pointy hats on their heads. Rogers’ blue party hat looked ridiculous, as though it were too small for his jaw but the string had been stretched to compensate. The genuine smile on his face also concerned Loki, but there in the center of it all was Tony, wearing two red hats like cat ears with a grin on his face.

“What… is this?” Loki managed, as he took but a few steps into the room.

“Its your surprise birthday party!” crowed Tony as the mortal bounded a few steps towards Loki, and Loki noticed then the emerald green party hat in Tony’s hands, and to the left, the dining table had been covered in gold and green tinsel, with a gaudy tinfoil sign that appeared to have been liberated from a child’s party reading in the background ‘Happy Birthday!’ with multicolored balloon letters littering the surface.

“My birthday,” Loki inhaled, willing his heart to stop racing. “You mean the day my birth father cast me out to die on the frozen wastelands?”

“Loki, no-”

“Or the day that Odin decided to take a Jotun baby as a political prisoner?” 

“Uh, I mean, it’s not-”

“How would you even _know_ it was my birthday? Did you calculate the date based on some old Norse mythology dating the end of the Asgardian-Jotun war?”

“No, Lokes, I just-”

“The day that _no one_ on Asgard celebrates, except for those who lost loved ones during the war? Did you know that I’ve never had a public birthday celebration in Asgard, but Thor’s birthday has been a holiday throughout the realm since I can remember?”

“Oh boy,” Bruce muttered.

Loki spun on his heels and stormed into the waiting elevator car, punching the floor for the penthouse with a vicious fist. As the doors closed he heard Clint screeching with laughter as Rogers and Tony called his name. He didn’t turn to see their expressions as the door closed, but with the quiet plink of the doors, Loki sagged against the elevator wall. 

Of all things Tony could do, Loki thought, of all ways to humiliate him. Loki scrubbed at his face as the doors opened to the penthouse, and he shuffled inside. Loki looked around the room, his heart beating erratically, irrationally angry at himself for returning to the penthouse he shared with Tony, of all places, but where could he go? The mortal would find him anywhere in the tower, and he was still on probation with SHIELD. He could go sit on the roof until Tony had gone back to the workshop or to sleep, but even there Jarvis would know where Loki had gone.

The god paced in front of the windows, his hands clenched in tight fists. How dare he, how _dare_ he, how dare the insolent mortal throw a public celebration to _humiliate_ Loki over his less-than-illustrious birth! In front of all of the Avengers too. Of course the Avengers all knew he was adopted, he’d learned that early on. Thor had told them supposedly during the whole Midgardian invasion, as though it justified the god’s erratic behavior. 

And if _that_ wasn’t still a festering wound, Loki didn’t know what was. To have the man he had called brother for over a thousand years, the man he’d grown up with, fought with, played with, and battled for, just write his behavior off as a fit of temper after discovering the truth of his Jotun origins? That hurt. That _hurt_. That Thor didn’t even know him well enough after all this time, couldn’t see that something was truly wrong with Loki to make him act this way, that he was not himself. That a mere mortal that he’d never met before could understand the god better than the man he’d called brother, it ached, ached in a way that made Loki want to destroy things, to rip apart Stark’s couch with his bare hands, and smash in the recently replaced entertainment center’s television until the glass crunched satisfactorily under his boots.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It just, hurt so much.

“Jarvis, could you… could you please not let Stark up here for a little while.” Loki sagged into the couch, his anger giving way to a painful ache behind his sternum, a feeling that Loki had come to associate with thinking of his not-brother and his not-family. “I would like to be alone for now.”

“If I may, Mr. Lie-Smith, I believe you have misunderstood Sir’s intentions.” Jarvis said, the AI’s voice almost hesitant, an observation that would have marveled Loki had he not been so distracted.

The elevator dinged, and Loki exhaled and covered his face with his hands. “So pleased to know you complied with my request, Jarvis,” the god bit out.

“My apologies Mr. Lie-Smith, but I do believe you should hear what Sir has to say.”

Loki felt the weight shift on the couch and a hesitant touch to his shoulder, and the god dropped his hands from his face to stare out the windows. He inhaled sharply, then turned his head ever so slightly to study the mortal beside him. Tony sat precariously on the edge of the sofa, with one foot tucked under his knee, his hand stroking careful light circles across Loki’s back. Somewhere after Loki’s abrupt departure, the genius had ditched the red hats. 

“Your AI is under the impression that I’ve misunderstood what a birthday party is.” Loki grumbled.

A small smile graced Tony’s mouth, and the mortal shrugged. “I don’t care if you misunderstood, I’ve obviously upset you and that was not my intention.”

“What was your intention then, Stark?”

“Er, well, SHIELD has agreed to provide you with paperwork for Earth. Or rather they’re going to get the right US officials to provide it. So you’ll have a passport, driver’s license, everything. Officially you’re an asylum case, but I have the best lawyers in the world, so I’m not worried. Hell, you’ll even be able to vote in elections here, won’t that be fun for a prince?”

“Ex-prince,” Loki chided.

“Whatever. Semantics. Think about the democracy!” Tony waived his free arm around erratically as though the act of sitting still for even this long was foreign to the man. “Steve will talk your ear off though, don’t ask him about current election issues. Big mistake.” 

“Get to the point.” Loki said.

Tony’s face fell, and he looked down at his lap, “I figured, well, you didn’t have an Earth birthdate, so I sort of, well, picked one for you since you needed one for the official documents here. And there’s this old tradition that talks about personality traits based on when a person is born, more ancient Earth mythology crap, called a zodiac sign-”

“I’m familiar with the term.” Loki interrupted.

“And Jarvis and I thought you’d be a Scorpio. So when Jarvis reminded me that step seventeen was birthdays, I thought…”

Loki sighed, “You thought you’d make a good memory for me with a surprise party. And I thought you were making a joke at my expense in front of all of your friends.”

“First of all, Lo-Kitty, that was not a group of _all_ of my friends. I’ll have you know that Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey were also invited, but couldn’t come since I only had this idea a few hours ago.” The mortal nodded to himself, before he continued, “And second of all, I’m relatively certain Bruce and Steve, and sometimes even Nat, would be offended to hear you say they’re only _my_ friends.”

“That’s not the point, you idiot.” Loki grumbled, but he bit his lip to keep in the grin that threatened.

“I know. Apology accepted. No harm, no foul.” Tony smirked.

“Who says I’m apologizing?” Loki asked.

“Yeah, yeah, god-complex. Can we go get cake now before Clint tries to eat it? I want to show you this awesome Earth tradition where we put a candle on a cake for each year of life.” Tony tugged at Loki’s elbow. “Do you think the cake is going to be big enough? How old are you? I only have a pack of twenty five candles, could we do one per century you think? I had Jarvis check the fire extinguishing equipment anyway, just to be safe.”

Loki chuckled, and at the sound, Tony turned and pulled the taller man into the briefest of hugs. Loki returned the gesture, that familiar pain behind his sternum changing into something else, something almost more raw than when he thought of his not-brother, something fearful and pure and accepted, an ache that almost hurt more.

“Tony,” Loki said as he released the mortal, “I overreacted. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin-”

Tony shook his head once, covering the god’s mouth with a finger. “No more of that, Lokes. Cake now. Heartfelt discussion about why you thought a birthday party was insulting later, preferably with scotch. Deal?”

Loki nodded once, and followed Tony onto the elevator.


	18. Making new traditions on holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“For the last time, Stark, I’m _not_ putting on a costume and parading around at some event!” Loki growled, spinning his chair in the workshop away from the infuriating mortal.

“Awww, come on Lo-kitty! I already got you cat ears and a black velvet mask!” Tony teased. “It’s an Earth tradition, and since it’s your first Halloween around here, it counts as making a _new_ tradition too!”

“No!” Loki snapped.

“But it’s for a gala! For charity! Stark Industries is one of the biggest donors, and Pepper already told me I have to go or else,” Tony visibly shuddered, “and you know how scary Pep-Pep can be.”

Loki turned carefully to look at Tony, where the mortal had perched on the back of the couch with his Iron Man helmet and repulsors tied into his chest-piece as he ran through new sequencing tests. It wasn’t possible, but to Loki’s eyes this version of the helmet seemed to be smirking. 

“Besides, you’ll be in costume, no one will know who you are.” Tony argued.

“No, Stark. Get someone else to attend.”

“Lokes,” Tony whined, “I’ll be bored if you don’t go. And besides, I already got SHIELD’s permission.”

Loki looked up from his book. “Why in the Nines would SHIELD grant permission for me to attend a masquerade ball, of all things?”

“First of all, it’s called Halloween, not some fancy-schmancy Asgardian ‘masquerade ball’,” Tony flipped up the visor, and turned to look at Loki, “And second, the charity benefits the children of the first responders who died in the Chitari attack. So, um,” Tony coughed, “Yeah, Fury might have been a little vindictive in granting permission? You know what? Bad idea. Forget it. I’ll just duck out early and we can watch scary Earthling movies after like every other mature adult on Halloween.”

Loki leaned back, his eyes searching skyward. The gray workshop ceiling was uninspiring most days, but the gray geometric lines criss-crossed in a soothing pattern as Loki concentrated on his breathing. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t _want_ to kill anyone, he’d done what he could, _hadn’t he_? Enough to shut down the portal, eventually, without letting The Other catch on to his plans. But was it enough? Looking at those days, it was like searching for meaning in clouds. He remembered who he was back then, remembered it like a phantom pain, like a distant injury that still is carried in how he walked, how he talked. Like a limp, a bad knee that has healed but is still weak, still threatens to give way when stressed. 

He hadn’t cared who died, because he hadn’t expected to live.

There’s the difference, Loki thought, between him and Tony. Tony became Iron Man under pressure. Tony, the diamond in the rough that became forged and fired and sparkled after all the horrible things that were done to him, taken from him, betrayed and broken but not vindictive. 

Loki remembered Germany. He remembered prowling down the stairs, his helmet materializing as he willed it forward with his still-recovering seidr, the power he felt as the humans scattered, like roaches after someone flips on the porch light, and he _had_ relished it, like one relishes the last breath before slipping beneath the waves, or a sunset before leaping from the cliffs. Because what did their pain matter, in the overwhelming face of his own suffering?

 _Damn_ , Loki thought, and he looked up to see that Stark had removed the repulsors and moved on to modifications on his boots, something about the shielding in the ankles, the man had said. 

“What will you be costumed as?” Loki asked. Tony looked up with such a hopeful expression that Loki’s heart clenched. 

“Uh, I thought I’d go as a pirate? I wanted to go as a dog but Pep-Pep said a cat and a dog at the same Stark Industries gala table is too obvious and would create all sorts of rumors that we don’t want to deal with.”

Loki smirked. “Stark, I think she’s worried that _you_ are too obvious. But what _would_ my cover story be?”

Tony shrugged, “Nat suggested you go as her cousin. Visiting at Avengers tower.”

Loki blinked. “Ms. Romanova is attending as well?”

“Well yeah, if you go. But don’t worry, Nat’s just going to be there to keep SHIELD happy. And, well, keep an eye on things if anyone were to recognize you. Not that I think anyone will, I’m telling you, Jarvis scrubbed the footage so well that even SHIELD can’t find any of you from the invasion.” 

Loki exhaled, his hands twisting the pages of the book in nervous flickers. He couldn’t identify the unfamiliar weight on his shoulders, the pressing force that felt something like remorse, like regret for what was done and couldn’t be undone. Perhaps it was a Midgardian thing, all of these emotions that Loki had so carefully discarded in the thousand years he spent on Asgard, trailing after his war-minded not-brother in dangerous campaigns that tested both Thor’s strength and Loki’s magery, learning to use weaponry that he couldn’t dare hope to master with his smaller frame, ignoring the taunts and jeers from Thor and all of Asgard over his use of magic, his fighting style in battles, his tricks. And there were many, many tricks, trickery that hurt and trickery that saved. Loki was under no delusions about his past; Tony may have wrapped up Loki’s role in the Chitari invasion into a nice little package of coercion by torture beyond imagination, but Loki knew there were so many things he had done that couldn’t be explained away so easily. 

Like letting the Frost Giants in during Thor’s coronation. 

Had the ends justified the means? It had saved Asgard from rule by a foolish child, for a time. Thor was brash, arrogant, and not ready to take the reigns, Loki knew that then just as surely as he knew it now, but several of the guards to the vault had died, and they had families, surely. Yet he’d never regretted their deaths, a warrior’s death with a ride to Valhalla on the wings of the Valkyries.

But children whose parents were killed in an ill-fated attack by aliens that Loki had led right to the center of the city? Perhaps casualties would have been lower had he selected a remote location, but Loki had worried how long it would take Earth’s forces to dispel the threat then, if he’d had the portal opened away from everyone. There truly was no easy answer. 

And on top of that, Loki grimaced, he hadn’t really cared. If the attack failed, he was dead either way, be it The Other or Asgard who delivered the killing blow. This thing, this living, this is what he hadn’t counted on, this is what he struggled with now to comprehend. And Tony, damn the stubborn idiot, wouldn’t let him go. It was both wondrous and terrifying, because what happened when the mortal truly saw who Loki was, _what_ Loki was deep inside? The monstrosity that Asgard feared, that he’d done nothing but prove the terrible tales right time and time again without even knowing it for all those years, with his tricks and mischief and treachery, motivated by spite and anger, never pure, never simple. Yes, he’d led the Frost Giants into the vault during Thor’s coronation, but Loki couldn’t lie to himself, his motivations were not merely aimed at protecting Asgard from a reckless leader.

Tony settled into the stool beside him, and pulled the book from Loki’s hands. The pages were twisted at the corners, with crinkled, miniscule tears that would never heal, not even with time.

“You okay there, Snowflake?” Tony asked. “You don’t have to go, you know.”

Loki scowled at Tony, “I’d be a coward not to.”

“Nuh uh. None of that.” Tony said as he flicked Loki’s nose, and the god grimaced at the sharp sting. “I’ve told you before, if my willful ignorance is redeemable, your coercion by that asshole certainly is. And don’t give me that ‘I’m not a good person, Tony’ speech again, or I’ll sic Nat on you. Every one of us living in this tower has at least one or two regrets. No one’s perfect. Well, _almost_ no one, but Steve’s kind of a freak like that.”

“Tony,” Loki sighed, “you’re impossible.”

The mortal grinned, “I know. So, you’ll go?”

“I suppose I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Costume choices may or may not be [Batwynn's](http://batwynn.tumblr.com) fault (emphasis on may).


	19. Passing tests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Loki woke to the intruder alarm blaring loudly, before it silenced itself mid-wail. 

Someone had bypassed Tony’s security and gotten past Jarvis, past the floor-wide lockdown that Tony kept in place on the penthouse whenever Tony wasn’t around, past the precautions to keep SHIELD out, past his security system.

“Jarvis, who is the intruder?” Loki grumbled as he sat up in his bed. Probably Barton had taken another wrong turn in one of the ducts and decided to harass Loki again or place another green party hat on Loki’s bedroom door. He’d been finding reminders of the ill-fated surprise birthday party for almost a week, left in places that Barton thought Loki would stumble across them.

Loki slowly stood up. “Jarvis?”

The silence stretched uncomfortably in the dim room. Loki took a shallow breath. Jarvis  _always_  answered. Always. Loki dressed quickly and pulled on his leather boots and jacket, his heart racing as he strained to listen for something, anything from the penthouse that would tell him what had happened to trip the alarm. That this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be The Other, couldn’t possibly be him already. It was too soon, Earth was too far away.

As he fastened his jacket, he’d begun to think that he’d dreamt the alarm, that he hadn’t even asked for Jarvis yet because that too was part of the dream, and Loki whispered again, “Jarvis, where is Tony?”

Jarvis didn’t respond.

Loki sank to his knees, his shoulders brushing against the clothing of his walk-in closet, and wrung his hands together. It couldn’t be The Other. It  _couldn’t_. But who would break into the penthouse of Stark’s Tower, when Tony wasn’t there? Wouldn’t they target the workshop? Or Stark Industries’ research labs on the lower floors?

Loki grimaced. Without his magic and trapped in this mortal body, the knives weren’t particularly useful if indeed The Other had arrived to collect him. But he couldn’t hide in his clothing wardrobe forever. He’d gone on campaigns with Thor, for Nine’s sake, he wasn’t a child. And what if Tony was in trouble too? He had to be, if Jarvis isn’t answering. What about the other Avengers?

He reached behind his hanging clothes to the thin plastic box taped carefully to the wall, nimble fingers pulling at the tape as he opened the top of the box just enough to remove one of his two knives, the only two he’d managed to retrieve and hide from the pocket dimension before the All-Father had bound his magic. He didn’t know how Heimdal hadn’t noticed, and he didn’t care. For all this time, since Loki moved from SHIELD’s custody into the tower, Loki had carefully hidden the small knives, wrapped and covered in thin cloth, and hidden on his person in carefully concealed hiding places, and he’d never even looked at the knives without their covers until now. With hasty movements, Loki tore the fabric he’d wrapped around the knife, and sheathed it in a pocket he’d had sewn on Asgard inside his jacket for this very purpose. They were small, most useful as throwing knives, but in close combat they would serve his purpose.

A voice rang out from the living space, and Loki strained to listen. It sounded metallic, like Tony in the Iron Man suit, but it was wrong. Not Tony. Not familiar. Loki cracked open the door.

The voice called out again, this time close enough for Loki to make out the words. The accent was foreign, not like the quirky sounds Loki had come to associate with the country he now resided in, but something older, more guttural in its pronunciation.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty!” The voice called again.

Loki narrowed his eyes, a slow grin spreading across his lips. Whoever it was, Loki now knew two things. First, it wasn’t The Other, and second, the intruder had recognized Loki at the Halloween gala he’d attended with Tony a few nights ago. It  _had_ to be another test by SHIELD, another of Fury’s attempts to get Loki to mess up, to violate the terms of his probation so he could have Loki hauled back to SHIELD’s headquarters. Loki hadn’t returned, not since that day a few weeks ago, when Fury’s demands triggered a panic attack.

Loki strolled out into the Penthouse, a casual smirk present across his lips.

“I promise you, Director,” he called out as he strutted slowly down the hall, “I’m not interested in playing these games any longer. I was assured by Tony that SHIELD had granted its permission for me to attend. So if you could please be on your way and give up whatever ridiculous test you’ve concocted for the morning, I’d like to have my breakfast now.”

Loki hesitated as he rounded the corner into the living room.

A figure clad in metal and a pale green tunic and cape stood by the balcony doors, the windows smashed open. This was… It was not The Other, but Loki wasn’t so confident it was SHIELD, either.

The man—if it was indeed a man, and without his magic Loki couldn’t tell—slowly turned. Its face looked to be forged into a permanent scowl, with dark eye-slits and a grid-like opening for its mouth. This wasn’t the Iron Man armor, with its smooth, graceful lines, but rather appeared as though someone had reanimated a medieval suit of armor and enhanced it, made it sharper, uglier.

“Hello, Little Kitty,” it said, “Doom wants to meet you.” 

“Oh?” Loki paced carefully into the room as he kept the penthouse’s large couch between himself and the intruder, a watchful eye scanning to see if Tony had been caught up too but there was no sign of the mortal. “My apologies if I am unfamiliar with the Midgardian term, but I’m not entirely certain I want to encounter doom presently. I’ve had quite enough death and destruction recently, you see.”

The caped figure cackled, and Loki couldn’t help but think of that ridiculous movie Tony had made him watch last week, with the bald supervillain who kept petting a hairless cat.

“Come now, Little Kitty,” it boomed, “You want what Doom wants; to see this world bow to us, bow to our superiority, bow to those that it has insulted and ignored. Together, we will make the whole world kneel.”

As Loki paced towards the kitchen, the creature followed, slowly closing the distance until the only thing separating Loki was the width of the kitchen counter and minibar.

“And if I’m not interested any more in world domination?” Loki smirked, remembering a very different time when he’d stood on the other side of this very bar, and a reckless mortal had offered him a drink. He reached for the panel just under the counter lip, his fingers finding the hidden panic button Tony had told him about after Fury’s latest threats.

“You have magic, Little Kitty, and you will help Doom learn its secrets, or Doom will not let the Avengers that you have allied yourself with survive this day.”

The figure gestured to the windows and Loki let his eyes drift to the view outside. It was a sunny day across Manhattan, and he could feel the chill of November from the broken door. But off in the distance, a flash of light, yellow and orange, and then another bright blast lit up the skyline. Smoke poured from the first explosion, and it took Loki a moment to recognize the green shape that launched itself into the air as it reached for two silver-shaped objects. Loki realized with a start that the Hulk had just batted down two creatures shaped like the one before him. But for the two silver figures that were destroyed, five more appeared on the horizon, the yellow jetpacks flaring as they rocketed in, and even from this distance Loki could see the orange fireball nearby as something else exploded, something big. And where was Tony? Or Steve? 

Loki turned back to the creature, his face dropping into a feral grin, and he forced a laugh. “You’ve been misinformed, I’m their  _captive_ , not their ally. And I’m no more magical than your average human, now. So you might as well let them live.”

“Doom does not think so,” the figure grinned, the unnatural metal mask twisting in harsh lines to replicate the expression, and made quick steps around the counter. “If you no longer have your magic, you cannot fight Doom’s superior technology, and you will go to Latveria. Doom will learn  _why_  you don’t have magic now, Little Kitty, and you will still be useful to us.”

Loki darted around the kitchen island, his back towards the balcony, and unsheathed his knife. Whatever this thing was, he was nobody’s— _nobody’s_ —lab rat, not ever again, not anymore. But now this abomination stood between him and the elevators, and Jarvis was still not responding, and no one had come when he pressed the panic button, and he—

He—

Loki glanced over his shoulder.

The knife wrenched in his grip, and Loki slid forward a few feet before he released it. A metallic clank echoing across the penthouse as the blade slapped flat against the figure’s metal hand.

“De-magnetized Asgardian steel is no match for Doom’s inventions,” the figure said, and Loki took a few quick steps back. “Now come quietly, Little Kitty, and Doom will make sure you are comfortable in Latveria.”

Before Loki had time to register the sound, the figure roared forward with a flash of smoke and flame from its jet pack and seized Loki’s shoulders. Up close, Loki could see the slot for a mouth was empty; where there should have been breath from the holes, he smelled nothing. So the abomination was a shell, a thing sent to capture Loki and controlled from elsewhere. That meant there could be more of them.

Loki dropped his center of gravity, and threw his forearms up and out to break the hold. The metal fingers dug in, but Loki’s blow was stronger that the abomination, and he broke free from its grasp.

With a quick glance towards the skyline, the explosions and smoke marring any glimpse of the Avengers fighting in the distance, Loki spun on his heels and ran for the balcony doors. He cleared the broken glass to the sounds of an engine firing behind him, and Loki leapt over the threshold onto the balcony and, without hesitation, vaulted himself over the glass railing.

He fell.

Falling wasn’t so bad, after all. He would die this time, this he knew. His body was practically mortal, with his magic restricted and strength restrained by Asgard’s power. But Tony, the Avengers, Earth would be safe, no one would use his magic, no one would  _use_  him, ever again.

It wasn’t like letting go into the black depth of space, like when he let go from the bifrost. When he’d wanted to die (and oh, didn’t that irony burn). But now, now it was peaceful, like the leap had saved him after all. Saved him, from something horrible, something unfathomable, so terrifying that nothing, nothing else mattered any more. Saved his friends, because maybe, just  _maybe_ , the thing controlling that abomination would surrender its ploy to distract the Avengers if the cause for the distraction was eliminated.

As he fell, he heard a whirling sound above him, metallic and high-pitched and closing fast, and with effort Loki pulled his legs and arms tightly against his chest, hastening his speed as the wind whipped painfully at his clothing. A sudden blast of heat threw him sideways, and he spun out of control towards brown glass building, his arms and legs flailing outward as bright patches of pain flared out on his hip, and Loki cringed, waiting for impact… and then, it was over.

Strong arms wrapped around his chest and he was jerked upward, his neck wrenched from the sudden force. He squeezed his eyes shut as his fists connected with the metal, and his voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears as the wind whipped his words away. A repulsor blast sounded close to his head, and Loki gasped in shock, and jerked his eyes open as the arms holding him changed directions abruptly yet again.

And Loki was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight reflecting off the armor, before he realized that the metal of the arms holding him was painted hot-rod red.


	20. Getting paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“Sir, Agent Romanov is requesting permission to visit the penthouse level.”

“Huh.” Tony muttered beside him, and Loki opened his eyes and carefully pushed himself upward into something resembling sitting, his arms bearing the brunt of his weight as he moved in slow motions so as not to strain the bandages swathed around the still-tender burns on his chest and hip. 

“S’say why?” Tony asked, reaching for his coffee mug on the end table. The mortal waved a few fingers through the holo-monitor images displayed on his personal StarkTab and the holos dissipated. 

“She indicated she has a matter to discuss related to recent events, Sir.”

Tony rubbed at his eyes. “You up for a visitor, Lo?”

Loki sighed, one hand reaching to gingerly rub his neck. “You may as well grant her admission, Jarvis. She will just repel down from the roof if she is denied entry now.”

The elevator dinged.

“Nat repelled down from- What?” Tony sputtered beside him.

“That was one time and there were extenuating circumstances involved.” Romanova approached from the elevator, her heels clicking quietly on the marble floor as she angled for the red leather chair diagonally across from Loki. 

“One time!” Tony exclaimed, his fingers flying across the tablet. “Jarvis, make a note, if anyone besides myself or Loki steps foot on the penthouse balcony, or even gets within ten feet of the penthouse balcony, from any direction, on the outside of the building, I want to know about it. Scratch that. I want sensors watching the balcony, infrared as well as optic, and let’s add some laser guns. Maybe electro-shock, can we target it for intruders? Do pigeons fly up this high, Jarvis? What about helicopt-”

Loki reached over with one arm and placed his hand firmly over Tony’s mouth. The mortal stopped mid ramble, and Loki quickly pulled his hand away before Tony could _lick_ his palm like last time. The mortal gave Loki a sheepish grin, before he picked up his coffee mug.

“I’ll, uh… be right back. Loki, want anything? You’ll be okay if I run down to the kitchen for a minute?”

“Stark, I’m _not_ a damsel in distress, you can leave me be for five minutes.” Loki snapped, and immediately regretted it as Romanova’s face broke into a fierce smirk. He heard Tony sigh behind him but didn’t turn to see the mortal’s expression. 

_Damn_ , Loki grimaced. He hadn’t meant to upset the man, but Tony’s constant presence since the Doombot had visited was starting to grate on Loki’s nerves. And then every time he closed his eyes, he saw that moment when he’d thought the creature had caught him after all, that the metallic beast was holding him and going to whisk him away again. He _hated_ how weak he’d felt. How powerless. How alone. And the rage, the rage he’d felt at being denied _again_ the chance to die to avoid the pain and hell he’d expected. Only to finally open his eyes and find that familiar red and gold.

And now Tony was hovering, and Loki hadn’t complained until now, which made it worse, Loki thought. It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t fight off an attack from some pathetic mortal’s excuse for a lapdog, that his best plan of escape had been to jump from the penthouse balcony, but _now_ Tony thought he was going to jump off the balcony again if the mortal so much as looked at him the wrong way. 

And Loki would be more annoyed that the only few minutes of peace he got alone in the penthouse were those times when he took care of his needs in the toilet, if it weren’t also so damn confusingly comforting to see Tony’s anxious face lingering in the background. If he hadn’t had nightmares every time he closed his eyes, of The Other, of that stupid mortal’s creation actually capturing him, of those explosions he’d seen in the distance growing larger and larger until the whole city was aflame.

Of finding Tony in the penthouse living room, without his suit and caught by surprise by one of those Doombots.

Loki leaned back into the couch, letting his neck rest into the cushion. Romanova was staring at him, her keen eyes watching the god’s careful movements as he sprawled on the couch, his posture far from the normal angular lines and poise he usually maintained.

“If you have business to attend before Stark returns, you best get to it,” Loki grumbled. “This is the longest he has voluntarily left my side since the attack.”

Romanova huffed, but she looked entirely too amused for Loki to grow nervous over the expression. She looked comfortable, almost approachable if Loki didn’t know what she was capable of with her pinkie finger alone, in jeans and a plain shirt with her hair pulled back, rather than the normal black of her SHIELD uniform. 

“You aren’t taking your pain medications,” she observed.

Loki tried to shrug from within the couch cushions, but the gesture was hindered by a spasm within his neck muscles, and he flinched instead. “The draughts prescribed cause me to sleep at strange times,” he murmured. “I don’t like to feel unaware. Why, were you hoping I’d be more forthcoming with whatever errand SHIELD has sent you to collect, had I taken the requisite dose of your Midgardian narcotics?”

“I read Stark’s report.”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up. “What report?”

“The one that detailed the evidence Banner mentioned a few weeks ago as proof that you intended the Chitauri invasion to fail. Stark also included his readings and visual feed of what lay waiting on the other side of the portal.”

Loki leaned back into the couch, willing his hands not to twitch. “And?”

“So tell me, Trickster,” Romanova smiled faintly, “When you tipped your hand in the helicarrier about the Hulk, was that an act within an act? Because there aren’t many alive in this world who can play me.”

Loki chuckled, and hid his face behind shaking hands. “Rest assured, Agent Romanova, you genuinely surprised me then. At the time, I was much too occupied with my own terror that The Other would see through my performance, see my mistake, and-” Loki’s mouth clicked shut. “Let’s just say it was not a pleasant memory. Is there something else you wanted to discuss, Agent? Despite not taking the prescribed draughts, it is still more exhausting to heal from injuries in this mortal form than I had realized.”

“Natasha,” she said.

Loki dropped his hands from his face, and carefully pushed himself to sit upright. “Excuse me?” 

“Call me Natasha,” she grinned again, and Loki felt uncomfortable, as though he’d befriended a lion and he were the lamb. “And I’m here on official SHIELD business from Agent Hill. SHIELD wants to hire you as a consultant, on magic, the Chitauri, the other realms, and so on. You’ll have to pass the standard security checks and examinations, of course, but if you agree to become an official SHIELD consultant, Director Fury has agreed to waive Earth’s rights to extradite you to Asgard when the Chitauri return.”

“Why would the Director agree to this?” Loki couldn’t keep the genuine confusion from his voice, and he winced at how desperate his voice sounded.

Romanova shrugged. “Because perhaps with Stark’s report and data, the Director has finally agreed that these bastards aren’t going to stop at merely retrieving their former pawn from Earth?”

Loki grimaced. “Fair but not particularly comforting, Agent- er, Natasha. If I agree, what are SHIELD’s terms?”

“As your official legal guardian on Earth, any contract will have to be approved by Stark and his legal team, so I wouldn’t worry too much about that," she shrugged. "For now, nothing will change except you’ll need to come in and complete some biometrics testing. SHIELD has developed a new protocol, and they’d very much like to see how the god of lies performs on their tests.”

“But you’ve already made your decision.” Loki stated.

“I have,” she confirmed. “And I’ll be glad to have you on our side. Even more relieved when Asgard sees fit to return your strength and abilities, all things considered. But I don’t think you’re lying, not about this.”

“Alright,” he whispered. His chest felt tight in places, and he didn’t think it had much to do with his injuries. Earth was the strangest place; humans, Loki couldn’t understand how such a short-lived society could be so forgiving. But this woman, she too had been on the other side, had been the one seeking redemption. So why did it still seem so strange, so foreign, to Loki?

The elevator dinged and Tony emerged, balancing a tray with plates and coffee mugs stacked high. 

“Lo-Lo, Steve made us lunch!” the mortal exclaimed as he sat the tray down on the coffee table. “Oh, and Brucie is coming by after lunch to change your bandages and recoat the salve, so if I were you I’d fish out that pill you stuffed in your pocket this morning when you thought I wasn’t looking and eat up. Trust me, I have lots of experiences with burns and injuries here on Earth. Take the blue pill, Neo, there are memories you don’t want to have.”

Loki scowled as Natasha barked a laugh and stood to leave, nicking half of a tuna fish sandwich from one of the platters as she departed.


	21. Tea before bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

He remembered screaming.

He remembered screaming, and pain, and the smell of burnt skin, overwhelming heat as though his skin had boiled and the bones of his body were iron bars that weighed him down so he couldn’t escape, bones that ached and carried within a fire far beneath their surface. As though a thousand snakes from Muspelheim had sunk their fangs into his body, and he could do nothing to dislodge the foul beasts as their fire flowed through his blood, rupturing to the surface in small rivers of red and blue, no matter how much he shook in his chains, no matter how much he screamed and begged and pleaded.

And he was not a creature used to begging, but of all his foggy memories of his time with The Other, the ones that never fade, that he remembers most clearly, are the times when he begged.

He remembers begging for death, mostly. But there were other things. Water. His mother. Anything but pain. Anything. He’d do anything. _Anything_.

He remembered the day that Thanos had answered instead of his lap dog.

 _“You’ll do anything, Little God?,”_ he had said.

The Mad Titan was even more frightening in person, and Loki remembered the fire-orange eyes most of all. He’d seen the Nine Realms, travelled the secret roads, but nothing… nothing could prepare him to meet the Mad Titan. And Loki played the role, played the betrayed king, and something deep inside made Loki wonder if he had actually been only portraying the part, if the pain and suffering hadn’t twisted something so deep, so viscously part of himself as much as the blue skin that he couldn’t shake free from.

And then that metallic creature had come and shattered his illusions of peace, of the feeling that he was safe and nothing could touch him in the ivory tower created by Tony, and the mortal was home this time. And-

“Ow! Shit! Fuck, Ow! Jarvis, lights!”

Loki grimaced as the room brightened, and he willed his eyes to open. His sleep-fogged brain protested the movement, and Loki flinched, waiting for his brain to catch up with his body. It would be worse for him, if he was awake and The Other asked something of him while he pretended to sleep. He coughed once, and a hand automatically clutching at the faded burns on his ribs, and Loki frowned at the unfamiliar sensation. The Other always left his skin unblemished after every episode; beneath his fingers, the skin felt smooth and taunt.

Loki sat up carefully, his eyes adjusting to the light as he blinked once, then twice, and slowly the view registered. He swiped at his cheeks, rubbing away the cold wetness as he exhaled, his throat scratchy as though he’d been screaming for hours. He wasn’t in the hidden space between the roots of Yggdrasil, wasn’t in the grip of The Other nor at the mercy of the Mad Titan’s whims… and Tony sat on the edge of Loki’s bed, clad in sleep pants and a worn-out t-shirt, and clutching his hand to his chest. Loki’s heart raced as he realized with a start that he was _blue_ , and not partially blue—not just to his shoulders—but everything. Everywhere, he was _blue_.

“Tony,” Loki swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. “Are you hurt?”

The mortal looked up and grinned. His fingers and palm were bright red, but the skin had not whitened or blistered. “Give it a second, minor frostbite? It’s fine. Will be fine. Actually, gonna go run it under some warm water.”

“Stark,” Loki choked out, keeping pace with Tony as the genius hurried into the en suite bath, “why in the Nine Realms would you touch me when I was blue? You _know_ I can’t control it right now, not with my seidr locked away!”

Loki watched with sick fascination in the bathroom mirror as the blue receded down his arms and into his fingertips, his skin fading to pale white, as Tony turned on the faucet.

“Lo-Lo, don’t worry about it.” Tony called over the water. “S’no big deal. I fucked up, okay? It’s just… haven’t you noticed, it’s been a long time since you went blue, from a nightmare? Should have checked first before I grabbed your shoulder.”

“Should I call Banner?” Loki murmured. The mortal’s fingers were pink under the warm water, and he watched as Tony tried to hide his grimace.

“No Lokes, really. It’s fine. It’s just frostnip, it’s not a big deal.”

“Tony, are you mad? My skin _burned_ you. How is it, as you say, ‘not a big deal’?”

“Your nightmares are getting worse, Lokes. It’s not even been an hour since the last one. Is that why you’re sleeping in here now, because of the whole blue thing? You know that sometimes the blue doesn’t burn, right?”

 “W-what?” Loki looked over at Tony, his eyes widening as the mortal shrugged casually as though discussing the monster living inside of Loki was simple as discussing the weather, a little smirk playing at Tony’s lips. “How would you even know- you _tested_ it?” Loki shouted. “After I’ve told you that Jotun skin quite literally _burns_ the Aesir, you _used yourself as a test subject_? While I was lost in the midst of my night terrors?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Snowflake. Of course I did. Science, remember? Hello, my best friend turns blue when he’s upset, you think I’m not going to investigate? It’s goddamn sexy too. Did you know you have these raised lines everywh-”

“I’m tired now, Stark,” Loki turned his back on Tony. “Leave.”

“No can do, Lo-Lo. That’s the second wake-up call in three hours. We’re having cocoa. Or you can have that vile tea you and Bruce seem to like.” Tony put a careful arm around the god’s waist, expertly avoiding the patches of sensitive skin remaining from his burns, and tugged the god towards the door.

“Contrary to whatever you believe, I’m not some quivering mess of degenerative god who is going to jump from the roof of the tower any time soon.” Loki grimaced, but let the mortal drag him down to the penthouse living quarters. The warm arm around his body felt inexplicably comforting, as though his residual chill from the unexpected return to his native form had left him hollow inside. “Well, not _again_.”

“Yes dear. With honey or plain?”

“Plain.” He mumbled. “It’s fruit tea, it doesn’t require additional sweetening.”

“Uh huh. Nasty.” Tony said as he shoved Loki gently towards the couch, and Loki stretched out his long limbs across the sofa.

The truth was, Loki knew that he had gotten lucky. To escape an attack from what he’d later learned was called a DoomBot (and supposedly, one of the more intelligent kind without superhuman strength that Victor von Doom used as a double for diplomacy matters), fall almost forty stories, and play trapeze artist with Iron Man mid-air, Loki had been lucky to escape with only minor burns and some bumps and bruises.

Something bumped his knee, and Loki opened his eyes to see Tony holding out his favorite mug, steam rippling across the surface. Loki cradled the mug to his chest as Tony stretched out beside Loki, their shoulders and sides touching. Loki could smell the mortal’s ridiculously rich hot cocoa, the rich aroma unpredictable and potent. Loki sighed, and took a sip of his tea. The steaming liquid burned his tongue, and the bittersweet flavor was mellowed out with something sweeter on the tip of his tastebuds. He carefully took another sip, letting the sharp flavor and pain that flared from the hot liquid center him.

“Spill it, Lo-Lo. What’s your nightmare ‘bout?” Tony’s words were slurred with exhaustion, and the mortal leaned heavily into Loki’s shoulder.

Loki studied the surface of his tea; the brown water swirled with accents and carried a slight sheen, from the acidity of the fruit. It was a ridiculous fear. Preposterous even more so because Loki didn’t care for the implications. And yet, his subconscious had focused in, embraced his affections- but the mortal flirted with everything and he knew that, he _knew_ that. Because for all the useless, wasteful fear that Loki had felt when he’d thought the creature would capture him while he fell, his unconscious mind apparently only recalled that split second of fear he’d felt when he entered the penthouse living room and expected to see Tony in danger.

“My nightmare,” Loki hummed, “I see the Doombot catching you unawares in the penthouse living room, without your suit.”

“And…?” Tony prodded as he rested his cheek on Loki’s shoulder, and looked up at the god through heavy eyelids.

“What makes you think there’s more, Stark?” 

Tony chuckled. “Genius. And…?”

Loki sighed, closing his eyes. “The Doombot defenestrates you. And I’m powerless to do anything.”

Tony chuckled again, and Loki felt the humiliation burn deep in his stomach, and his gut twisted painfully. “It’s not amusing, Stark!” he barked, his fingers nervously twitching around the tea mug.

“It’s sorta funny. Ironic? Can it be ironic funny?”

“Idiot.” Loki grumbled. 

“ _Genius_ idiot.” Stark corrected, as he placed his empty cocoa mug on the coffee table. “Come on Lokes, let’s go to sleep. No arguments, two nightmares makes you the official little spoon.”

“I have no idea what you are saying. What does a Midgardian eating utensil have to do with nightmares?” Loki huffed, trailing behind the mortal into Tony’s bedroom.

“Ask Brucie, he’ll get the reference.” Tony smirked, patting the pillow next to his.

Loki rolled his eyes as Tony gently pulled on the god’s elbow until Loki’s forehead rested just above Tony’s collarbone, his arm thrown casually across Tony’s chest, like he’d first slept that night in Stark’s quarters on the helicarrier. As he drifted to sleep, he thought he imagined the chaste kiss to his temple.

 _Figures,_ Loki thought, even awake his subconscious is playing tricks on him.


	22. Watching your breath on cold mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

The newest HERB Finder had been miniaturized, smaller than a microwave and no longer, to Steve’s relief, shaped like a stereotypical human interpretation of what a science fiction portal would resemble. Even more importantly, it hadn’t exploded on the first test.

It had also, inconveniently, been redesigned to include straps so that Loki could carry it around on his back.

Loki clenched his teeth as Tony tightened and then redid the waist strap, the additional weight pulling on Loki’s shoulders. The weight of the HERB Finder, strictly speaking, was higher than what most mortal frames could carry, but even in his reduced form Loki was still stronger than Tony, strong enough to carry the density of the HERB Finder and its customized battery pack.

“Tell me again,” Loki growled as Tony fiddled with the pack, the warmth of the battery seeping through against Loki’s back, “why you thought the HERB Finder needed to be worn?”

“Can’t stop what we don’t know is coming, can we?” Tony mumbled as he fiddled with the output readings on his StarkTab. “Jarvis, are you onboard?”

The AI’s smooth voice echoed from a hastily assembled speaker Tony had just welded to the pack. “I am indeed a passenger on board, Sir.”

“Great. Can you link back with the home servers and run diagnostics on the monitoring? What sort of lag time are we talking, ‘bout thirty seconds? Less?”

“I believe in ideal conditions without interference and proper satellite coverage, we should expect approximately twenty three seconds.”

“Pretty slow. Jarvis, make a note. Let’s add a small hyper-powered radio transmitter keyed up to an FM frequency that’s not used as much in the city, set up a trigger notice. Find one for testing before production, we’ll need to wear it around the city a bit to double check the range.”

“And so inconspicuous, if I might add, Sir, for Iron Man to suddenly begin broadcasting on the radio. Also illegal, if one were to concern themselves with what the FCC believes.”

“Yeah well, if this thing activates, means we got bigger problems than fines for jamming the radio waves.”

Loki shifted his weight to the other foot. “Are you quite finished, Stark?”

“Patience is a virtue, Lo.” Tony said, “But yeah, we’re done for now.” 

The mortal unhooked the straps and slowly pulled the frame from Loki’s back, taking care to heft the weight of the straps against his forearms. Loki rolled his shoulders once, before he turned to help Tony carry the device to his workbench. With a few taps, the quiet hum disengaged and the miniaturized HERB Finder fell silent. 

Tony dropped the modified StarkTab beside the pack and sat down heavily in his chair. Loki sat beside him, in the chair Tony had ordered for the god when it became clear several months ago that the taller man would become a fixture in the workshop. The AI rattled of a series of statistics regarding the next configuration of the mini-HERB and as Jarvis’s list of modifications trailed off, the silence stretched out, languid and thick.

Finally, Loki asked: “When are you planning on testing the, ah, HERB Jam?”

Tony shrugged, and Loki watched as the mortal twitched his eyes open to study Loki for a moment, then let his eyes fall closed again. “Waiting on Foster. Need her help reproducing a signal to test with. Hey! Wanna go to London with me in a few weeks?”

Loki glowered. “I’m fairly certain that if SHIELD won’t let me venture out of the city, they’d be even less enthralled by a journey to another Midgardian country.”

“Another country on _Earth_ , Snowflake. And I have it on good authority that the only person who’s supposed to be reporting back to SHIELD if you leave the tower is Nat. That reminds me.” The mortal sat up, rubbing at his eyes. “Jarvis, is Nat awake?” 

“Agent Romanov is in her rooms, Sir. And as you may recall, I am unable to view any biometric or video recordings from her rooms on the pain of sudden and violent electrical failure, so I am unable to determine if she is awake at this early hour. ”

“And what about Cap?”

“A little less than half an hour until his alarm, Sir. May I inquire as to what your current scheme for angering SHIELD includes, Sir?”

Tony grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges with mischief, and Loki exhaled sharply. That look on the genius’s face, nothing good came from that look.

“Jarvis, activate Protocol Sixteen Candles, authorization AES5115 Sigma 3.14,” the mortal said.

“Is that wise, Sir?”

“Shut up _Mom_ , just gimme the map,” said Tony, as he stood and stretched, the bones in his neck and back popping. “What’s our best way out?”

As Tony stretched his arms upward, the edge of his shirt slipped up over the rim of the mortal’s jeans, revealing a patch of tan and taunt skin mere inches from Loki’s face. Loki’s cheeks felt warm as he contemplated leaning forward into Tony’s space, just resting his forehead on the mortal’s stomach and licking at the exposed skin, imagining unbuttoning the dirty, grease-covered jeans with long, pale teasing fingers— he huffed a breath, and closed his eyes.

In one tiny moment, the god was both frustrated and humiliated; frustrated because Tony was just a friend, and from all accounts the genius flirted with anything that moved, and Loki wouldn’t—couldn’t—make his attraction known, wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this delicate arrangement. He was too grateful, too surprised by the continued goodwill from Tony and his fellow Avengers, of humanity more generally, the understanding and just knowing way that some of Tony’s friends looked at him now, when he was lost in a memory, when he hovered on the edges of the room during movie nights before someone noticed and pulled him in to sit down. Never like Thor and his friends, never begrudgingly invited because of Tony but treated as an equal, as someone invited in not from obligation. Even Barton had made an effort, ever since Tony had filed that report with SHIELD that Romanova had mentioned. 

And humiliated because when Loki had the chance, when he first had arrived at the tower and Tony had to bodily drag him into the shower in the Iron Man suit, and later, when Loki couldn’t have been bothered to care for his appearance had Tony not pushed him along, he’d been too lost in his own world to notice Tony, to really appreciate the firm lines and strength and muscle on the genius’s smaller frame. And he’d kissed the mortal as a joke, as part of that stupid list Tony had given him, thought himself a clever tease, only to now find himself wondering if his subconscious had known more even back then than Loki could admit now.

Which didn’t matter, of course, because Tony wasn’t interested.

And even if he _were_ interested, it was a despondently terrible idea. For one, Tony was mortal, and at most could expect to live another forty or fifty years, less if his heart had been impacted by his arc reactor. Loki had carried grudges for longer than that. And another, Tony had no idea what the _real_ Loki was like, what monstrosity hid behind an Aesir form, what lurked beneath the pale skin. Sure the mortal had apparently found his Jotun skin fascinating enough to experiment in the name of science when Loki wasn’t awake—and Loki was still furious about that, but all the more furious because it scared him, that Tony could have been severely injured and Loki wouldn’t have even known until it was too late, but the skin only hid the real dangers beneath the surface, didn’t it? Jotuns were monsters, Loki had known this his entire life, had heard the stories of their atrocities, their vicious nature, and it was only Tony’s ignorance on Midgard that kept the god in good graces with the mortal and his fellow Avengers. If they knew, if they knew—

A gentle hand on his shoulder shook him from his thoughts, and Loki opened his eyes to see Tony grinning in front of him and holding out one of his old sweatshirts to Loki, a dark gray hoodie with the letters MIT across the front and frayed at the edges. As though Tony had lived in the hoodie for several years, and then continued to live in it every year thereafter.

“We’re going for donuts.” Tony proclaimed.

Loki pulled the sweatshirt over his head as Tony did the same with a dark red one. The hoodie smelled faintly of the mortal, like cinnamon and stale coffee beans as though it had been propped up next to a coffee roaster then seasoned, and Loki inhaled the scent, memorizing the aroma and letting the comfortable feeling wash away his thoughts.

The mortal handed him a baseball cap and grabbed his elbow, pulling Loki towards the workshop’s private elevator. “We have twenty minutes until Rogers’ alarm, and Nat has an appointment at eight, so we have a few hours until anyone would notice. Jarv’s blocking the feed here, and all the way to the donut shop.”

“We’re going outside?” Loki hesitated.

“Should be just chilly enough to see our breath, Snowflake. And it _is_ morning, even if we haven’t slept yet.” 

Loki sniggered. “How you still manage to harp on that infernal list is beyond me, Stark.”

Tony merely smiled in response and Loki’s breath caught at the gentle lines of Tony’s smile, the way the mortal’s amber eyes brightened when he smiled without sarcasm, without snark, without any of the humor Loki had begun to understand that the mortal wore around his shoulders like a personal shield.

As Tony’s elevator opened to his private garage, Tony caught Loki’s hand within his and intertwined their fingers. Loki let the smaller man pull him through the side door accessible only by Tony’s fingerprint and code, and out onto the streets of New York City.

The city was busy still even at this early hour, with yellow cabs and black town cars whizzing past the tower, paying no mind to the two men dressed in nondescript hoodies and baseball caps on a cold November morning. Tony turned to the left, and kept a quick but comfortable pace towards his favorite donut shop. Loki had never been, but Tony made sure there were always donuts delivered to the tower on Sunday mornings, or any morning after Loki had a bad night.

Two blocks from the tower, Loki noticed that Tony’s fingers were still intertwined with his, the warmth of that hand contrasting sharply with the tingly cold of his other, and as the pair had warmed during their brisk paced walk, Loki’s breath created white puffs of smoke with each exhale that danced and spun around his face, delicate and fragile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that I'm really, really, really looking forward to the next step after this one? 
> 
> I'm really, really, really looking forward to the next step after this one.


	23. Bonfires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

The fire had died down as the evening wore on, but the flames were still high enough to warm Loki’s toes and knees even from this distance. Someone, he didn’t recall who, had thrown a fleece blanket around his shoulders hours ago, soon after he’d settled into one of the reclining lawn chairs that they’d brought along. 

Not that he could feel the cold; between his Jotun tendencies and the amount of alcohol that had gone around the fire, Loki was almost too warm.

Tony, the ridiculous idiot, had settled into a chair on Loki’s right but had propped his legs across Loki’s knees and turned his chair sideways to get closer to the flames. It _was_ cold, after all, late November on Midgard and nearing winter, if what Loki read about upstate New York’s climate was correct. And everything smelled faintly of firewood and smoke and ash, and for all Loki could remember, he’d not been this comfortable in a long time.

It had been Steve’s idea, to go camping in the Catskills for an American holiday called Thanksgiving, though Natasha has suggested the bonfire and after-dinner gathering, with a pointed look at Loki when she suggested it.

And Steve, the guy that everyone thought was the most earnest of the Avengers, had blatantly manipulated the merry band into agreeing to camp outside in tents in the cold autumn weather. He had woven a careful picture of wanting their first Thanksgiving as a team to be different and to do something that distinguished it from their past as he sought out each Avenger to ask after their holiday plans, and, everyone had agreed to the good Captain’s wishes, despite Tony’s protestations that he didn’t sleep anywhere without at least four stars (whatever that meant, there were literally thousands of stars in the sky on Midgard, especially out here).

“Who’s got next?” Tony slurred beside him, the mortal raising a beer to his lips. The group had fallen into a comfortable silence after one of the more outlandish stories of the evening, something Barton had shared about his time in the circus. Even Loki had laughed, loudly enough to startle Barton and Natasha, who’d never seen him smile, he supposed. “Brucie? Whatcha got?”

Bruce shook his head, “I don’t have any good stories. The other guy doesn’t really share, and I doubt you want to hear about deworming orphans in Somalia.”

Rogers glanced up, “Is that a movie reference? I’ve seen that one.”

And Tony cackled, “Please tell me you didn’t actually watch Legally Blond, Capsicle?”

“Shut up Stark, it’s a good movie.” Barton snorted and from across the campfire, Natasha threw a pebble in Stark’s direction, but Loki reached out and caught it before it could strike Tony in the forehead.

Tony laughed again, his shoulders shaking with mirth, and pulled out his phone. “Jarvis, buddy,” he directed, “Remind me, need to make a list of culturally appropriate movies for Cap to catch up on.”

“Tony!” Steve barked, “No tech, remember? Put your phone away!”

“Now, now,” Loki purred, “I’m fairly certain that’s equivalent to asking Stark not to breathe.”

“Snowflake’s right,” Tony snickered, “S’got me outside, sleeping on the ground, in winter for fuck’s sake. Can’t win ‘em all, Cap.”

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“I think I’m going to sleep,” Bruce stood, pulling the blankets tighter around his shoulders. “This was fun. I’d say let’s do it again soon, but I can’t really feel my fingers. Maybe when it’s warmer.”

“Night nighty Brucie,” Tony giggled again, and Steve waved to the man as he wandered off. Steve had helped Tony to pitch their tent closest to the main cooking fire, with both Bruce’s and Steve’s own tents further away where a second, smaller fire had been set up for warmth and to ward off the night.

Natasha stood, and a moment later Clint stood as well. Both nodded to Rogers and waved at Tony and Loki before they disappeared into the darkness. For reasons Loki didn’t want to ask after, the two had declined to use a tent or sleep near the campfires, but set up a sleeping tarp and hammock system a few yards away from the main campsite. In the distance he could see their flashlights switch on as the pair ambled away.

“Lokes, s’your turn.” Tony giggled. “Tell me a story.”

Loki glanced at Steve, and let his lips upturn in a smile at the Captain’s exasperated look. Tony was drunk. Correction, Tony was beyond drunk, he’d achieved a new level of intoxication on life, liquor, and friendship that Loki had not seen before, and that was before Natasha had broken out the vodka shots. She’d tried, valiantly, to get Rogers tipsy during dinner, but the most Steve had felt was a deep sensation of warmth and a slight blurring of the edges. Tony, however, had claimed that seven vodka shots was nothing and he’d obviously fallen out of practice through no fault of his own, goddamn invading aliens and Mandarins, and Bruce had laughed and, confusingly enough, nudged Loki’s arm.

“This was unexpectedly pleasant,” Loki looked to Rogers, “I have to admit, I was hesitant about joining you all on this expedition. Usually, sitting around after a quest with my bro— with Thor and his friends, it is not so cordial an experience.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow, “How so?”

Loki grimaced, one of his hands finding Tony’s leg and he wrapped his fingers around the mortal’s ankle, thumbing the edge of Tony’s sock. “On Asgard, there is a great deal more fighting and showmanship involved when Thor, Lady Sif, and the warriors three venture out on a quest. And the stories told after, the stories are always about the glories of the battle or hunt, or the enemy’s brute strength that a true warrior overcame.”

“So? What’s the difference? We told stories about our fights tonight.” Steve observed. “I mean, I guess defending myself with a trashcan lid isn’t only about brute strength?”

“No,” Tony growled, suddenly not sounding as intoxicated as Loki remembered, “He means that on Asgard, it’s only stories of victory that are told. We told stories of our failures, Cap. Of how we tried something, and it didn’t go to plan. We laugh at our failures, at our weaknesses. The idea of a ninety-pound Brooklyn kid pickin’ a fight with a trash can lid? Funny. Clint’s tale about falling from the big top while training in the circus? Funny. You laugh at an Aesir’s tale about battle, and you’re gonna have another fight on your hands. Am I right, Lokes?”

Loki could feel Tony’s gaze, the heat of his stare warming Loki’s neck and he felt the flush rise in his cheeks as he resolutely stared at the fire. He nodded ever so slightly.

Steve’s face fell, his smile fading as his brow furrowed. “Loki, I’ve seen Thor fight, and he’s all power and force in his attacks. If Asgard prizes a warrior’s skill so greatly, what do they think of magic like yours?”

Loki briefly closed his eyes. “What do you think, Captain?”

“I think I’ve seen you fight even when your magic was being corrupted, limited by that scepter, and it’d be pretty stupid of Asgard to disregard the benefits of a unique skillset just because it’s not their norm.” Steve said.

Loki barked a laugh. “The day Asgard respects a warrior with seidr is the day the universe as we know it will end.”

“Well, more’s the pity.” Steve mumbled, and then he stood and clapped Loki on the shoulder as he strolled away. “Goodnight Loki, don’t let Tony drink anymore or you won’t be able to get him into the tent.”

“S’just beer, practically water,” Tony protested. “Just ‘cause he can’t get drunk, doesn’t mean he’s gotta ruin it for the rest of us.”

Loki smirked, but took the bottle from Tony’s hands anyway and hauled the mortal to his feet. Tony squeaked in protest, but didn’t object as Loki guided him towards their tent. After losing their shoes and jeans and zipping closed the tent flap, Loki huddled down into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes.

Only to open them moments later as cold air hit his legs and he flinched, sitting up quickly and almost bumping foreheads with Tony as he reached for his flashlight.

“What in the Nines are you _doing_ , Tony?” he growled, flicking on the flashlight. He looked down to see Tony had unzipped his sleeping bag entirely and was now refastening his to connect with Loki’s.

“S’cold.  Two’s warmer.” Tony’s teeth chattered as he finished fastening the second zipper, then quickly shimmied into his sleeping bag that was now attached to Loki’s. Loki had but a moment of renewed warmth before icy feet tangled with his calves, and he gasped in surprise.

Tony giggled, and Loki propped his head up to look at the mortal. Tony pressed his back into Loki’s chest and pulled his pillow up to muffle the sounds of his laughter, his eyes scrunched closed and unfocused but whether it was from alcohol or his amusement, Loki didn’t know. As he watched, Tony’s face emerged and the mortal swiped at tears, giggling all the while.

“You’re rather intoxicated, you realize?” Loki grinned.

“Yup” Tony crowed.

“And you’re alone with the God of Mischief, in a tent, somewhere in Midgard.”

“Sounds kinky,” Tony giggled again. “S’there gonna be candles next?”

Loki rolled his eyes, and turned off the flashlight. “Go to sleep, you idiot.”

“ _Genius_ idiot,” Tony giggled again.

“Hush,” Loki whispered, pulling Tony in close, draping an arm protectively over the mortal’s chest.

This close, Tony smelled of smoke and ash and stale alcohol, but there was more to the scent. Scotch twisted with metal and blended with the smoke, and the faintest scent of coconut, as Loki inhaled the scents that comprised the man.  Tony giggled again, and pushed himself back into Loki, stretching his legs out lengthwise.

The mortal’s feet were _still_ freezing.

Loki inhaled again, burying his nose in Tony’s hair. Beyond the smoke, the scent of coconut was stronger against his skin, and Loki’s chest felt heavy, as though he’d held his breath for too long underwater and now had to kick his legs hard for the surface. Tony wiggled his hips, and Loki froze, closing his eyes as he felt familiar stirrings rise to the occasion, and he reflexively tightened his grip on the smaller man.

“Lokes,” whined Tony.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Loki whispered as he moved away.

“No, no,” Tony hiccupped, catching onto Loki’s wrist. “Not that. Just. Not ‘posed to.”

Loki paused. “Not _supposed_ to. Because I’m a monster.”

“No. Don’t. Don’t be ridiculous. Not a monster, told you the blue thing’s sex. I mean sexy.” Tony muttered.

“Oh, so _now_ you’re going to hold New York against me? Is that why you’re not _supposed_ to?”

“Lo-Lo, that’s not it, s’not New York. Fuck, why is this so hard.” Tony stuttered and rubbed his eyes.

“Stark,” Loki spat, “It’s just a physical reaction, it doesn’t mean I’m _interested_. It’d be foolish anyway. Just… just let’s go to sleep,” Loki pulled his wrist forcefully from Tony’s grasp.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the mortal grumbled, as he rolled towards Loki, the blue of the arc reactor lighting up the god’s face. Loki tried to shift away, but then Tony jutted his hips forward, and- Oh Nines! Tony smirked at Loki’s stunned expression and swayed forward into Loki again, the warmth of Tony’s interest taunt against Loki’s own. “S’at answer your question, Lokes? Can I kiss you already?”

Loki chuckled in astonishment, a crumpled sound that choked off into a helpless whimper as Tony captured the god’s lips with his own. Their tongues met, and Loki groaned. The mortal tasted of scotch and iron and pineapple, and as the taste of Tony mingled with touch and smell and sound, Loki relaxed into the kiss, letting his hands and tongue tell his story as he surrendered himself to the will of the universe, tucked securely in the embrace of Midgard’s most foolish mortal.


	24. Traveling to new and faraway places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

“Holy shit, you guys _finally_ sucked face last night!” Barton whooped, “Hill owes me ten bucks!”

Tony looked up from the French press he was fiddling with, eyes red and bleary as he studied Barton. “Birdbrain, how would you even _know_ that? And fuck you, for not letting me in on the betting pool, that’s what. You’ve been making crude jokes about Loki putting out for months.” 

“Excuse me, Stark? I do not, as you’ve so vulgarly phrased it, ‘ _put out_.’ I am _not_ a woman.” Loki growled as he stole the first cup of coffee poured from the press.

“Hey! Sucking face doesn’t mean you get to steal my coffee!” Tony snapped, but his eyes brightened as Bruce handed him another coffee mug, and the mortal poured the rest of the coffee into his mug before inhaling several steaming mouthfuls. After his forth sip, Tony sank into the lawn chair next to Loki’s, and stretched out his feet towards the fire. Even though the group planned to depart that the morning, someone, most likely Bruce, had built up a small fire for the group to huddle around. 

“Well I guess now we know who tops,” Clint mocked.

“Shut it Barton!” Tony huffed, “And besides, hasn’t anyone told you? That’s no longer a thing,” The mortal waived his hand dismissively. “It’s a narrow-minded construct that is designed to classify sexual practices within the same framework as those used by the cissexual community.”

“What the-? Since when the fuck did you become a mouthpiece for GLAAD? I mean, shit, Stark, the last I even heard, you actually liked pussy. Or are you just gay for Norse gods?” Clint sniggered again, before Natasha punched him in the shoulder. “Ow! Nat!”

“It’s too early for your mouth, Clint, but if you don’t stop I’m sure the good Captain can find some soap.” Romanova grinned, baring her teeth, and Loki hid his smirk behind a gulp of coffee.

“Aww Nat, you’re just grumpy that I got to turn off my hearing aids last night, and you had to listen to them make out like teenagers,” chuckled Barton as he dodged another half-hearted shove from Natasha.

“Wait,” Tony looked alert and Loki stiffened as the genius sat up, “did you say hearing aids? You wear hearing aids? How come I’ve never seen them? Why haven’t I _designed_ them? What the actual fuck Barton!”

Bruce and Natasha laughed as Barton scowled and muttered, “Fuck.”

“Fuck, as in you weren’t going to tell me? I’m hurt Clint, I thought we were friends.” Tony jumped up from his chair and stalked over to Barton, reaching for the archer’s head, and Barton shoved Stark away with one arm. “Aw come on Clint, don’t hold out on me! Don’t tell me you have implants, I can’t even see-“

“Leave it Tony,” Romanova interrupted, as she refilled the French press with boiling water beside Rogers at the camp stove.

“No way,” Tony protested, “Come on Barton, just let me see if I can make ‘em bett— Eeek!” Loki looked up as Tony squeaked to find the genius held in a headlock by Romanova as she steered him away from Barton. “Okay, okay, okay, let me go! Nat! I’ll be good!” Tony pandered.

Loki smirked as the master assassin dragged Tony away, and when she released him, Tony grimaced and made an embellished display of rubbing his neck. For a moment Loki worried that Romanova had actually injured the mortal, but then a grin lit up Tony’s face when Romanova offered him the rest of the coffee she’d pressed, and Loki made an effort to let the strain fall from his shoulders.

The familiar smell of the Captain’s pancakes drifted through the camp, and Loki looked up to see Bruce had dropped into the chair on the other side of him. Bruce raised his tea mug and clinked it carefully against Loki’s coffee mug before he took a sip of tea, and Loki raised an eyebrow at the gesture. 

“Earth thing,” Bruce shrugged. “Like a congratulatory salute? Way to go? Huzzah? We’re proud of you two?”

“The longer I am here, the more convinced I am that I shall never truly understand Midgard.” Loki muttered.

“You and me both, and I’m from here.” Bruce smiled.

“Honestly,” Tony said as he sat again, his coffee refilled, “I came out for a good time on this camping trip but I’m feeling so attacked right now. Clint won’t let me see his tech, Nat’s glare is brighter than the sun this time of year, and everyone’s now thinking about my sexy ass.”

“I’m decidedly trying to _not_ think about your ass, Tony,” Steve exclaimed, “or anyone else’s ass, either.” he added, waving his spatula in Barton’s direction.

Tony continued, as he turned towards Loki. “I think we need some space. Maybe this camping trip was too much team bonding, am I right? I feel the need to get away, put in some distance from you assholes—except you, Brucie bear, you’re a peach—but I gotta get out in the world, stretch my legs a bit, get away from the rest of these losers for a few days. Maybe even another continent. Lokes, how do you feel about going to London on Monday? I think we should go to London on Monday.”

“No,” snapped Romanova, “not going to happen.”

“It’s not exactly a donut run, Tony,” Steve shrugged apologetically as he handed Loki a plate of pancakes and the bottle of maple syrup.

“What, you _knew_ about that?” Tony pulled out his phone, “Jarvis, you traitor, I thought you covered our tracks.”

“My sincere apologies, Sir,” the tinny voice of the AI rang out from Tony’s phone speaker, “I was not aware that Captain Rogers had ascertained your breakfast destination.”

“Tony,” Steve groaned, “You both came upstairs for coffee that morning with wind-burned cheeks, and you had powdered sugar all over the front of your hoodie.”

“Well maybe we ate donuts on the roof, did you ever think about that one, Sherlock?”  Tony objected.

“Sure I did. But I also sketched the sunrise that morning on the roof.” Rogers smiled.

Loki chuckled nervously as Bruce whispered, “Busted.” He chanced a look over at Romanova to find her steady gaze on Tony, as though she was debating whether it was even worth reporting this particular parole violation to SHIELD or if she’d rather just threaten Tony privately.

“Well it doesn’t matter what either of you two think,” Tony grinned, as he forked a bite of Loki’s pancakes into his mouth, “because our London vacation has already been approved by Fury. I’m taking the mini HERB Finder to Foster to work on the HERB Jam, and Lokes gets to come with because without him the mini HERB Finder only picks up low-level interference from the airport. And some teenager’s science project.”

“Foster couldn’t be persuaded to return to New York for this conference?” Romanova intoned, “Even by SHIELD?”

“Yeah, funny story,” Tony finished another bite of Loki’s pancakes, and the god rolled his eyes and handed Tony the plate, “a few years ago, SHIELD briefly stole all her research on Einstein-Rosen bridges, so strangely she’s not so keen on helping them out. But me though, she’ll do a favor for.”

“A favor?” Clint snorted, wagging his eyebrows, “What did you promise her?”

Tony almost snorted his coffee he laughed so hard, and Loki glared, reaching over to pinch the mortal’s arm. “Ow!” Tony complained, “I promised her additional funding! That’s it!”

“Liar,” chimed Natasha, and Loki turned toward Tony. The mortal looked sheepish, and was tapping the goatee on his chin with one finger.

“Stark,” Loki hissed, “out with it.”

He sniffed. “She kind of wanted to meet you? And I may have promised her friend the opportunity for closure? Selvig is a close friend of hers.”

Barton hollered a laugh, “Wait, wait, the Foster you’ve been collaborating with on the device that’s going to save Loki’s ass from the intergalactic jack-off is _that_ Foster? The one that Thor hooked up with in New Mexico?”

“Yes?” Tony’s brows furrowed, and Loki noticed the tension in the mortal’s face as his fingers twitched over his chin, “Does no one understand how amazing the opportunity for science is here? Besides Brucie? Who wouldn’t say yes to that?”

Barton raised his hand, and Tony followed up with a one-fingered salute.

“Alright children,” Steve interrupted, “If you’re done with breakfast and bickering, let’s pack up. Tony, come help me with your tent.”

Tony grumbled but stood and obediently toddled after the Captain, as Natasha and Barton also headed back towards their sleeping hammocks. Loki noticed Bruce studying him, a curious look in his eye, and Loki looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. It was odd, Loki thought, Banner was one of Tony’s closest friends, second only to the mortal’s longstanding friendships with Pepper and Colonel Rhodes. And he’d congratulated Loki. _Congratulated_. As though nothing out of the ordinary for Midgard had occurred, as though… As though less than a year ago, Loki hadn’t let an invading force of aliens tear up New York City.

Bruce finished the last of his tea and stood to rinse the cup, but Loki reached out quickly and laid a finger on the doctor’s arm. “I would have a word with you, Bruce,” the god whispered.

“Okay?” Bruce settled back in his chair. “What’s up?”

“Everyone is…” Loki coughed, uncomfortable, “strangely unconcerned about last night? Even though we’re both biologically male?”

Bruce chuckled. “Uh, are you asking why no one cares or why no one is surprised?”

“Both,” he said, as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Uh. Well, not sure how it is on Asgard, but here it’s not particularly unusual nowadays, though some countries and some people are still weird about it.” Bruce shrugged, “But Loki, you’re living with a rather eccentric group here, I’m not sure that there’s all that much that would phase this crowd.”

Behind him, Loki heard Tony cursing up a blue streak after one of the tent poles had caught the mortal’s finger while he was disassembling the rods, and Loki turned just barely in his chair so he could watch. He smirked as Tony caught him staring, and the genius made an exaggerated wave of his hips as the mortal bent down to remove a tent stake from the ground.

“As for why no one is surprised,” Bruce said finally, “if you try to hand Tony something—coffee, a StarkTab, anything—does he take it?”

“Yes, of course,” Loki murmured, reluctantly turning his attention away from Tony, “What does that matter? Is that a Midgardian custom I’m not aware of?” Loki blanched, trying to remember if he’d handed objects to any of the other Avengers.

Bruce stood up, dusting his pants off. “No, nothing like that. It’s a Tony thing, that’s all. He doesn't like it when people hand him things. Just watch him around others, you’ll see it. And there’s something else… how many dates has Tony invited back to the tower, in the four months you’ve been living on the same floor as him?”

Loki opened his mouth to retort, then clicked his teeth together. Bruce grinned good-naturedly and clapped the god on the shoulder. “And that’s why no one’s exactly surprised, Loki. Even Pepper is in on the betting pool, and she dated Tony before New York.”

Loki watched as Bruce shuffled away from the campsite, the bin of dirty breakfast dishes and liquid soap in his hands. Aside from Pepper’s occasional visits for dinner, Tony hadn’t brought anyone to the penthouse. A few of the Avengers had stopped by, of course, but no one else. And when would Tony even have gone out to meet anyone? When _had_ he gone out? He was always fiddling with something in his workshop, or waking Loki from another nightmare, or trying to get the god to complete another item on that infernal list. In fact, Loki could count on two hands the nights he’d spent alone in the penthouse while Tony was away on business, and the majority of those nights had been in August and September, when Loki had first arrived at Stark tower. Certainly none since that idiotic Doom character had sent his minion to visit the tower.

And the one gala Tony had attended since Loki moved in, Tony had insisted on dragging Loki along like a prized possession. He remembered the way the women (and if Loki was honest, quite a few of the men) looked at Tony that night. Dressed in his pirate costume, but still very recognizably Tony Stark, the mortal had seemed to enjoy strutting across the room in knee high boots with that strangely puffy-sleeved shirt and sash. He oozed confidence, charm, and kissed the cheeks of so many women that Loki had lost count well before his second drink. Loki rubbed his eyes, resting his face in his hands.

How had he not noticed before? How had he not noticed that for all the talk of his playboy reputation in the media, Tony had been surprisingly reserved?

And that morning. Loki had expected Tony to laugh off Barton’s accusations as foolish drabble, like any respectable warrior would have on Asgard, only to renew his affections behind closed doors at a later time. But Tony not only hadn’t denied it to his friends, he’d laughed and joked back. The entire morning had bordered on surreal for Loki.

An arm snaked around his shoulders and Loki looked up to see Tony perched on the armrest of his lawn chair. He blinked in the bright light, belatedly realizing that while he’d had his head buried in his hands, the campsite had been packed up around him.

“Where’d you go, Snowflake? You were a million miles away right now.” Tony pressed a kiss against Loki’s forehead, and Loki shivered at the touch. “I’m already taking you to London for the next step, you don’t have to journey off just yet.” 

Loki swallowed, and cleared his throat. “Midgard is a new and faraway place from what I am accustomed to. I’m not sure step twenty four is actually all that necessary.”

Tony pulled the god to his feet as Rogers approached and took the chair, folding it quickly as the super soldier strolled off towards the Suburban. In the distance Loki saw that Clint had already climbed inside, and was sitting on top with his feet dangling inside the sunroof. The campsite was abandoned but for Tony and Loki, and the god looked down at the smaller man to find Tony’s concerned brown eyes, almost pale amber in the November sunshine.

And Tony tangled his fingers in Loki’s hair, and tugged the god’s lips to his own. Loki closed his eyes, tasted pancakes and syrup and smoke against Tony’s tongue, and sighed into the touch. If Tony wouldn’t hide from his friends this newly found fascination between them, then Loki wouldn’t, either. Maybe Midgard wasn’t so strange after all, maybe Asgard was unusual; Loki didn’t know any more.

They broke apart to the sound of Barton making retching noises and Rogers telling them to get in the car already.

“That bring you back down to Earth, Lokes?” Tony smirked, as he grabbed Loki’s elbow and dragged the god towards the others.

Loki touched his fingers to his lips, feeling the smooth contours against his fingertips. It felt as though he’d walked through fire, as though he’d been burned and rebuilt and burned again, but in a pleasant fashion, and it surprised Loki to find that his lips felt as they always had, such an innocuous touch in the wake of Tony’s kiss.

“Yes,” the god said finally, as they neared the others, “though I have a feeling I’ll need reminding quite frequently about which realm I am in, Stark.”

Tony laughed, and Loki didn’t even mind that he and the genius had been relegated to the cramped third row seat in the back for the drive home. He leaned against the window, stretching out his long legs across the seat as Tony stretched out the opposite direction, the smaller man’s legs overlapping and tangled with Loki’s as the mortal whipped out calculations on his StarkTab. Every now and then, Tony would glance up and grin or wink at Loki before he turned back to his calculations.

He couldn’t remember feeling this content before, as though this moment existed only to be experienced, as a moment and a promise, as though nothing could touch him, nestled in the back of a Midgardian transport vehicle driven by one of the great heroes of this realm and legs akimbo with one of the richest men of this realm, and despite the surreality of the moment, despite knowing what monsters truly existed out there in the depths of space and hidden in the roots of Yggdrasil, Loki closed his eyes and let his cares drift away.


	25. Weddings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Loki loved London, of course.

The city stretched out before him was nothing like New York, yet it was similar enough that the god had enjoyed immensely looking for the differences in the sights and sounds, contrasting the two cities. London carried an energy, a depth that he hadn’t found in New York’s rhythm, this enigmatic place, the hustle about the town, the foggy skies and cold rain of late November, and the hints of color that popped up as the city prepared for the upcoming festivities for a seasons of festivities that Tony had told him about. (Supposedly there had been a god born of man who had died and many Midgardians still celebrated his birth? It was all so esoterically strange to Loki.)

And now on the continued slow progression up into the sky high above the River Thames, Loki stood at the windows, one hand resting on the railing as he looked as far as the eye could see. The sun would set soon, marking the end of their first week in this strange city, and Loki looked out to see the landmarks he could recognize from his reading. Big Ben. Westminster. Buckingham, which supposedly was a palace and Tony had forbidden him from visiting despite its historic significance, in light of the fact that the monarch of this nation resided within its walls. Even further he thought he could make out the top of the obelisk that had its twins in New York and another Midgardian city.

This contraption that Tony had rented out for the evening, the gigantic ferris wheel that rotated on the southern bank of the river, moved slow enough for Loki to observe quietly the sights of the city from a pale glass pod, and Loki let himself smile despite it all. Tony bumped his shoulder and Loki glanced over to find the mortal handing him a glass filled with scotch. The god smiled, sniffing first the aroma before taking a sip. Apparently, renting out the entirety of the London Eye without ordering beverages or meals delivered as well was far above and beyond a courtesy that the British were capable of, and when Tony and Loki arrived for their exclusive rental, there had been several bottles of the finest and glassware awaiting them.

“Must we return to New York soon?” Loki asked, as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass to look down at the river, where the tides were slowly rolling in. 

“Afraid so, Cupcake. I need to stop by my London R&D office for a few days, but after that we should probably head back,” Tony snorted, “probably before Fury sends Nat to collect us. You like it here? Better than New York?”

Loki shrugged, before he took a sip of his scotch.

“Huh.” Tony smiled, “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Which, Loki smirked, was the understatement of the hour. London had been nothing like Loki expected. From the first moment when he and Tony had arrived, the air chillier than New York and a private car waiting to whisk the pair away from Tony’s private jet (which, if Bruce were to be believed, Tony’s private jet was unlike anything that ordinary mortals experienced when traveling such distances, both in comfort and speed), to arriving at the hotel penthouse—where Loki finally learned what the number of stars Tony willingly slept under meant—Loki had seen more of this part of Midgard in a few days than he’d seen from the windows of Tony’s tower in four months.

And Tony had relished the opportunity to venture out. He’d taken Loki to restaurants, on an official first date (as Tony described the concept, but it seemed silly to Loki, all things considered), and escorted the god from historical site to site when he wasn’t holed up working on the HERB Jam with Foster.

It wasn’t that Tony was any less recognizable in London; no, it seemed that there were more cameras here than in New York, and Loki had caught sight of their photos in at least three publications since their arrival, but the difference was in how the population of this city treated him. In New York, countless times Loki had seen or heard of Tony being trailed by the media, or Tony would return from a brisk walk looking hounded, and out of breath as though he’d sprinted to escape. Romanova had mentioned that New Yorkers felt particularly brash about asking for Stark’s autograph, really the autograph of any of the Avengers. Which alone was a strange concept, because why would a Midgardian without magic desire the signed name of any of its heroes? For what purpose could it be used? Loki’s inquiries on the internet had labeled such things collectors items, and Loki had briefly wondered if the Collector collected signatures for any nefarious purpose, but he couldn’t think of any.

But in London, the people let Tony be. Sure, the cameras followed him, and he was fairly certain that there was at least one image of he and Tony holding hands as they strolled the grounds of Hyde Park, but the staff at the high-end establishments were more than willing to isolate the pair, protecting them from the cameras and providing privacy of a sort Loki wasn’t sure Tony experienced as frequently in New York. After even a few days in London, Loki had noticed how much more relaxed Tony was, how much calmer he slept at night.

Maybe it wasn’t that he preferred London, but rather that he preferred Tony in London, less tense without his normal obligations, and seemingly alleviated of some of his concerns.

A few minutes later, Loki clarified: “It’s not perhaps that I like it better than New York, but rather that I’ve been permitted to experience more of this place. I’ve kept to the tower in New York, mostly. And the city treats you differently, more like a famous eccentric that has stopped by rather than their own personal public property.”

Tony hummed, and Loki knew that sound, knew it meant the mortal was thinking of something, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it now. Soon it would be dark, and Loki wanted to see the city lights, see how London looked as night fell, as this _planet_ rotated away from the light (and what a strange concept for someone who had grown up on Asgard). He was recovering, he supposed, if the sight of stars and night sky, even away from the bright flames of the bonfire a few weeks ago, had ceased to frighten him.

It hadn’t been entirely enjoyable, of course.

Meeting the woman that Thor had befriended and her colleagues had been, at best, unpleasant. Loki closed his eyes briefly, trying to remember the indignant look upon her face when Tony caught her arm before she could slap Loki, while her assistant in the background had pulled out her phone and began hooting, “Fight, fight, fight! Awwww come on Stark, don’t ruin the fun!”

And Foster had turned to Loki and spat in his face instead, shouting at him: “That’s for New York!”

And Tony, amazing Tony, had laughed, and said, “Jane, he threw me out my own window and I’m fairly certain that we might be dating now. So careful, sweetheart, you can’t have _all_ of the Norse gods!”

Tony’s arm came around his waist and Loki put his arm across his shoulders, relaxing into the touch as Tony leaned his head on Loki’s shoulder. Outside the curved windows, the sun slipped lower across the sky, a bright orange ball that dragged downward and bathed the city in warm light.

Later, when Foster had calmed down and Tony had gotten her to read his report about the portal over New York, she had shuffled from foot to foot and apologized for spitting on him. Loki had inclined his head in the barest of nods, which the infuriating woman had taken as a sign that she was forgiven and free to demand information from Loki.

“Did Thor, um, mention me at all?” she had asked, and Loki remembered blinking like a lost hound, unsure which way to follow the hunt.

“Uh, Jane, maybe we should-” Tony interrupted.

“Because he said he would return, but it’s been _years_.”

“I’ve not spoken on civil terms with Thor since before he managed to get himself banished to this realm, Ms. Foster,” Loki hissed. “I wouldn’t presume to know what his intentions are now.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “not even after New York? I mean, he’s your brother, right? I know you guys had some sort of issues before, and Thor’s friends thought you might have snapped or something, when they arrived in New Mexico, but-”

Loki gaped at her like she’d undertaken to confound him further, as Tony quickly caught his hand and squeezed, almost painfully, rooting the god in place. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing occurred, and he tried again, but was equally confounded. As though she thought he would be able to even think about what Thor’s plans were, when he stood beaten and muzzled and had not slept in years, as though he couldn’t comprehend what level of stupidity this mortal possessed to believe those to be important questions, and if that was the case, for what reason had Stark dragged him out here, to this forsaken city on Midgard, if she was so stupid as to pine over that muscle-bound idiot for years, what help could she _possibly_ offer on the HERB Jam?

“He was banished on Midgard for four whole days. Days! Over two years ago!” Loki snapped, and turned his wild gaze to Tony, “Is this normal on Midgard? This… this… infatuation with the unknown, with that which has been only available in so temporary a timeframe? Is it because your lives are so short?”

“Well, we talked a lot in those four days,” Jane defended. “And besides, didn’t he come back for a few days later on to talk with SHIELD, aren’t you still on probation with Asgard? That’s what Erik said.”

Loki blanched, and Tony put a cautious hand on his shoulder, the mortal’s eyes scanning Loki’s face and fingers for any signs of blue.

“Jane, uh, maybe you and Darcy should go get us some lunch? We’re at a good stopping point, right? Right.” Tony said, as he pulled out his wallet and whipped out a black card towards Darcy. “Here kid. Get lost, come back at least an hour from now.”

“Yes sir, Mister Stark, sir! Come on Jane, we’re not wanted, and we have Tony Stark’s Visa Black. How quickly can we get to Mayfair?” Darcy, ever quick on the uptake, had begun dragging Jane out the door, but the scientist apparently was not to be dissuaded.

“What? Why? I’m just trying to understand. He obviously came back again after New York, is there a reason he hasn’t returned since then?” Jane demanded.

“Yes,” Tony had uncharacteristically snapped, “The bifrost is broken. So Thor only gets sent down for emergencies, and guess who decides what emergencies are? All-Daddy Odin. So I suppose meeting up with his Earth-bound lover is _not_ on the Asgard list of approved emergencies. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Jane rolled her eyes at Tony, and pulled her hand out of Darcy’s grip. “That’s not what I asked. Besides, we were hardly lovers, I mean.”

“Yet!” cackled Darcy, before she began chanting something as she pulled Jane again towards the door, the song involving Thor and Jane sitting in a tree for some unknown reason.

“My sincere apologies, Miss Foster,” Loki managed, as the words of Darcy’s song wafted into his consciousness and his words ceased to fail him, “I had no idea the level of your affections even after all this time. Perhaps when communications between the realms are restored, we will discuss with Director Fury the political implications of seeing to an arranged _marriage_ with the heir to Asgard’s throne, as clearly you are willing to make that sacrifice for your realm.”

“What!” she had exclaimed, and Loki took pleasure in the dark cackle from her friend Darcy. But Tony had seen the whole thing, and Loki wasn’t sure he liked the dark glint in the mortal’s eye, as though Loki had accidentally revealed too much about his life on Asgard, as though Loki had said something that Tony wouldn’t release until he understood the point, and had dissected it and reassembled it in a way that the mortal could comprehend, or at least live with.

After the troublesome Foster and her sidekick had left with Tony’s credit card, Loki had snarled and shoved over a chair and one of the smaller bookshelves, before he sank down on the ratty couch that Darcy convinced Loki and Tony to drag downstairs on the second day after their arrival. And Tony, he had decided the best way to calm Loki’s temper was to straddle Loki’s lap and kiss the god, his tongue rough and demanding as Loki tried valiantly to resist in a fit of temper, until he relaxed and sighed and clung to the mortal, his hands fisting in the material of Tony’s t-shirt, and kissed him back just as forcefully.

It had become apparent very quickly to Loki, that Tony enjoyed reminding him that he was on Midgard, perhaps a bit more often than was strictly necessary, but Loki wasn’t one to complain. Not about that, at least.

And most surprising of all, meeting Foster’s colleague, the man Loki had used to open the portal for the Chitauri, hadn’t been all that terrible. Erik Selvig had arrived on the third day, entering the workshop like a frightened horse as he looked first to where Tony and Foster had situated themselves around the mini HERB Finder backpack before he scanned the room and found Loki sitting on the couch with his StarkTab.

Before Foster or Tony could acknowledge the man, Darcy had called out “Erik!” from across the room, and then added, “Put your pants back on!” and Loki had looked down, underneath the desk between himself and Selvig, to discover that indeed, the mortal had removed his trousers (but thankfully had retained his undergarments).

That, Loki thought, made everything that followed slightly easier to accept.

Selvig had waved off Darcy and Foster’s admonishments to replace his trousers, insisting that it helped him to think as he briefly shook Tony’s hand (and Tony’s eyebrows literally could not go any higher, Loki was amused to note), before the scientist had dragged a chair over to where Loki sat, and demanded to know whether SHIELD knew about The Other and Thanos.

That got Tony’s attention, unfortunately, but Loki was still relieved and a bit proud that he didn’t dissolve into his Jotun form despite how startled he was by the man’s question.

“Doctor Selvig, I-” Loki had hesitated. He hadn’t thought that his fears bled through the connection. Had they done so for Barton, or was that connection different, because Loki had used the scepter rather than established it from such a terrible distance (and under more terrifying circumstances)?

“Erik,” the scientist corrected, “You were in my head for almost a year, it seems inappropriate to address me formally. Besides, I’m trying to not have an existential crisis here, considering you and Thor were stories in my childhood. I’m not entirely sure this is actually happening, to be honest.”

Loki grimaced, “I assure you, this is real. Though many of the stories here on Midgard are not truthful.”

Selvig only chuckled, “Sounds like a conversation to be had over pints. But you have told SHIELD, yes? About Thanos?”

“Yes,” Tony chimed in, as he came to sit on the arm of the sofa beside Loki, his feet perched on the cushions, “and we’re dealing with it, Doctor Selvig. That’s partly why we’re here, working with Jane on the HERB Jam.”

Selvig nodded, then twisted his hands in a nervous gesture. “Good. Good. I don’t think I want to know why you fear him, just knowing that you… uh… a _God_ fears him is enough for me. But I had to know. I had to know.”

“Selv-,” Loki grimaced, “Erik, what else did you see, during our, ah, connection?”

The man grinned, his teeth showing and almost feral, and Loki felt unnerved, as though more of himself from New York had bled through the connection to Selvig than intended.

“I knew you were afraid. I knew you didn’t want to win, that you kept pushing at SHIELD, at the Avengers, looking to remove their weaknesses before it was important. I knew you were trying to do something—something else—so you overlooked my design failures, the ones that let Black Widow shut it down with the scepter.”

Then the doctor looked up at Foster, and surprise registered in his eyes, and his scowl bled away into a gentle befuddlement.

“I also know that there are certain, ah, aspects of my personality that are not mine up here,” Selvig continued, tapping his forehead, “Anger that is not mine. Memories about hunts with Thor, about his friends saying unkind things, things that are not mine to remember. But I’ll keep them safe, I won’t tell. I understand, you know.” 

Loki swallowed carefully. “When Asgard returns my seidr, I can help to examine those pathways and restore your own responses. Remove what lingering connection now presently ails you.”

Foster looked surprised, and Loki realized she was carrying a pair of trousers for Selvig. The man smiled sheepishly as he looked down again, to realize he was not wearing trousers, and for the second time in ten minutes, repeated “Thanks Jane. But it helps me think, not to have trousers on.”

And Loki had sighed, as Selvig stood and wandered away. It was clear that the mortal had been deeply affected by his time under Loki’s control, and it was another point of regret, another moment where Loki wondered if it would have been better had he refused, had he let Thanos direct him like a puppet on strings and accepted the coward’s death after. But then he’d never have met Tony, never lived. Never let himself understand or accept what this world had tried to show him, again and again.

“You enjoying the view, Snowflake? Because it’s sorta better if your eyes are open.” Tony said, as the mortal planted a gentle kiss on Loki’s jaw, and Loki let his eyes fall open. The Eye had reached the bottom of the circumference again and was on another upward stride; this close, the waves of the Thames were visible, rough and windblown by the cold air outside of the pod. 

“My apologies, I am distracted,” Loki murmured.

“Oh?” Tony grinned, wagging his eyebrows. “Anything I can help with?” 

Loki grinned back. “You already have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my non-American readers, the children's song that Darcy is singing is [this one](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K-I-S-S-I-N-G#K-I-S-S-I-N-G). I am adding this note because it will make the title of the chapter and Loki's response a bit clearer if you didn't understand the song reference.


	26. Touching the lives of everyone you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Returning to New York in time for the first dusting of snow to stick across the city would have been more enjoyable, Loki thought, had Doom not chosen that moment to attack the city. 

“J, where are they?” Tony called as the suit snapped in place across his body as he strolled towards the edge of the platform.

“Near the northeast corner of Central Park. The present incursion appears to involve multiple of his usual DoomBots, several of which are presently heading this direction, Sir. Shall I provide a flight path for interception?”

“You’re a peach, Jarv.”

Loki had trailed after Tony on the landing ramp as the mortal suited up, and Tony turned suddenly to catch Loki’s shoulder. “Snowflake, don’t do anything stupid,” he said, “We’ve upped the security, remember? Once you’re back inside, anything other than me landing on the tower platform will get a very nasty surprise.”

Loki scowled, “I’m not a damsel in distress, Stark.”

Tony’s lip curled into a smirk and he pecked a kiss on Loki’s cheek, “No, just a really old and about to be incredibly pissed off God with jetlag. Seriously, Lo, stay safe?”

Loki huffed but nodded, and Stark grinned as the faceplate snapped in place and he rocketed off the platform moments later.

Once inside the penthouse, Loki heard the enhanced locks slide into place and he paced restlessly before the penthouse windows. Outside he could see in the distance the orange-red glare of Tony’s suit, and he fingered the empty space where his knives should be kept.

“Mr. Lie-Smith, if it may provide some comfort to your situation, it appears that Doom may believe that you and Sir are still indisposed in London.”

“Oh?” Loki frowned, “and how would he know where we were?”

An image materialized on one of the penthouse’s numerous holographic displays, and Loki strolled over to study the image himself and Tony, sipping cocktails through a window at the May Fair in London. Loki’s face was obscured by a curtain of dark hair around his jaw line, but even in the photograph Tony’s eyes twinkled, as though he had just discovered the secret to immortality. Below, a second image a moment later showed Tony with his head thrown back, laughing laudably at something Loki had said. He tried to remember what had made the mortal laugh; it was something about growing up with Thor, he was sure, but he couldn’t remember

The headline read, 'WHO IS STARK’S MYSTERY DATE? IS THE WORLD’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR GAY?' Which was absurd, Loki thought, because of course he was happy, just _look_ at the photographs.

“Jarvis, are you watching Stark?”

“As always, Sir. Would you like me to share the video feed to his suit?”

“If you can do so with alerting him, yes. I don’t want to be a distraction. If you would display any surrounding camera angles for the other Avengers as well, that would be ideal.”

“You’ve spent too much around Sir, sir, if you are requesting additional video surveillance. I’ll be sure not to alert SHIELD to your new found interests in security cameras.” Jarvis teased, and several more displays arranged themselves in a semicircle around Loki.

“See that you don’t, Jarvis,” Loki’s lip curled upward in a half smirk, “It would be terribly unpleasant to stay with Director Fury as a guest again, and would certainly put a dampener in my current proclivities.”

The screens shifted again to arrange four camera screens around Loki; one of Tony’s view-screen as he battled those pestilent DoomBots, and three others of lower resolution in which the various members of the Avengers flitted in and out across the camera view as Jarvis rotated on a semi-instantaneous basis between different security feeds.

As usual, Barton had picked a spot high above the city and called positions to the others as he picked off the bots one by one with his customized arsenal. Romanova and Steve appeared to be working in tandem as he launched her onto the back of a DoomBot before he threw his shield at another, as the Black Widow jammed her wrists into the neck of the first bot and jumped as the thing began sparking dangerously.  And in the background, the green behemoth that Loki still couldn’t find him himself to associate with the gentle mannered doctor that he’d come to consider an ally, if not a friend, had taken a bot in each hand and begun using them like one might play with the toy action figures he’d observed on television. Too bad the arrogant Victor Von Doom wasn’t likely in one of those metal suits as well.

Rage burned in his gut as he watched the Avengers fight off the metallic abominations, as he sat in the comfortable luxury of Tony’s tower, cozy and warm. If only he had his seidr back, if only he weren’t made weak by this mortal body. But even that rang false to the trickster as he watched Romanova backflip again from a falling DoomBot. _She_ certainly wasn’t stronger than most humans, but her limitations were no limitation to her participation. No, Loki grimaced as the Widow took a nasty hit from one of the bots, his limitations were of his own making, the terms of his probation, his desire for the goodwill of the Avengers, of Tony. And fear, blinding fear of what would happen to him if Earth decided to remove him prematurely, if Thanos came looking for him on Earth.

When The Other and the chitauri came for him.

Something caught Loki’s eye and he squinted at the display. There, in the very top right of the image, was something hidden in the dark doorway to the rooftop stairs behind Barton.

“Jarvis,” he ordered, “Maximize the bottom left window,” The camera view showing Barton expanded, and Loki studied the blinking red light. “In the doorway behind Barton, there is a red light, upper right corner of the doorframe that doesn’t appear to be part of the Midgardian design. Could you increase the resolution of that image?”

“Displaying now,” Jarvis said as the display pixilated before it resolved to show what appeared to be a smooth metallic device with one flashing red light and several jumbled wires plainly visible behind a clear panel.

“Damn!” Loki shouted, “Jarvis, tell Barton to get off the roof! Tell Tony-”

“I have added you to the Avengers’ communications frequency, Sir,” Jarvis responded, and the penthouse filled with echoes of chatter as Loki took in the sounds of the Avengers in the heat of battle. He could hear Tony calling shots and the roar of the repulsors as he fired, and Steve warned Natasha of another DoomBot behind her, before the man swore himself and Loki thought he heard the sound of Rogers being knocked to the ground.

“Get off the roof, Hawkeye!” Loki roared.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s Bag of Cats doing on the party line?” Barton’s annoyed voice rang out.

Loki ignored him, instead barking out, “Tony, there’s an incendiary device of some sort on the roof behind him, get him off-”

“I’m on my way,” Tony wheezed, and Loki’s heart clenched at how tired Tony sounded, before the mortal snarked back, “Hawkeye, ya ready to fly, little birdy, cause-”

Then the red light behind Barton stopped blinking, and the display bled white. The screen became brighter and brighter until Loki had to shield his eyes, and when he opened them again, the image was gone.

“Jarvis?” Loki cried.

“It would appear that the bomb has exploded, Sir,” Jarvis replied. “I believe the device also incorporated some form of EMP, as I’ve lost communications with Sir as well.”

“EMP?” the god grimaced at the unfamiliar phrase. He could hear the ominous roar of the green beast as another boom echoed across the city.

“My apologies, Mr. Lie-Smith. An EMP is an electromagnetic pulse, or a transient electromagnetic disturbance. Such a burst of energy is best comparable to the effects of a lightening strike or smaller nuclear reaction response with regards to electronic equipment.”

“Electro—” Loki croaked, his heart hammering in his chest, “Jarvis, will such a disturbance harm Tony’s reactor?”

“Sir has taken precautions to limit if not prevent such a blast from affecting the reactor, Mr. Lie-Smith. By my calculations, the statistical probability that such a blast has damaged the reactor is less than one percent.”

Loki exhaled, but a thought occurred to him. “Then why can you not locate him, Jarvis? Should not the suit be immune to such effects if its power source is?”

“Not necessarily, Mr. Lie-Smith. Individually, there are components of the suit that may be affected, and the communications equipment relied upon by the Avengers functions outside the energy source from Mr. Stark’s reactor.”

“Iron Man! Iron Man, do you copy?” Roger’s voice rang out, as Jarvis unnecessarily added that communications with Rogers and Romanov had been restored.

The silence that followed was unnerving. Stark was _never_ silent. Loki listened as Rogers and Romanov refocused on battle, with nary a hint of noise from Stark in the background. Or Barton, he grimaced, but it hadn’t even looked from the feed like Barton made it from the roof before the device exploded. It was almost too perfectly timed, as though someone knew the precise moment to detonate the device.

As though someone else was listening in on their conversation.

Loki sank into the couch, his hands clenched into sharp fists.  For the first time he keenly felt his inability to fight in this limited, _stupid_ form, without his seidr and bound in strength by the All-Father himself. For the first time since he learned of his sentence—probation on Midgard in the custody of its defenders until such time as SHIELD and Asgard shall later determine and decide to revoke his probation— Loki felt ill, physically ill, as though Thor had punched him in the stomach during a sparing match as a child, and Loki, poor little skinny Loki, hadn’t been quick enough to dodge the attack. He swallowed bile as the silence stretched uncomfortably, his shoulders twitching at another roar of the beast in the distance.

“Gatekeeper,” he whispered, “If you are watching, and Stark is injured— if Stark is harmed in any way, I beg of you, Heimdall, ask the All-Father to release my seidr. Please, Heimdall. _Please_.”

Tony couldn’t have been caught in the blast, couldn’t have fallen like a stone from great height as he attempted to catch Barton, could he? Had Barton even made it off the roof before that crude device exploded? Loki buried his face in his hands, guilt and anger pooling in his gut in an unholy mixture. If only- if only the god had just _kept his Norns-damned silver tongued mouth shut_ , Tony wouldn’t have been anywhere near that explosion, wouldn’t possibly have fallen from heights even he couldn’t survive in his damnable suit, not in his weak mortal form, not as a human. Barton would be dead, if he weren’t already, but not Tony. Norns please, Loki grimaced, not like this. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

“You may want to view this, Mr. Lie-Smith,” Jarvis’s voice almost sounded relieved. “It appears that Agent Barton was able to vacate the rooftop in time.”

Loki looked up, and Jarvis replayed the transmission on a holo-display beside the god. The image flickered again, to show a grainy view shot through a window of what appeared to be a Midgardian workplace, judging from the furnishings, and the video zoomed in to find Barton on the rooftop. His trademark compound bow dangling from one hand, the archer’s keen eyes scanned the sky, before his other hand went to his ear, and moments later, the archer leapt up on the retaining wall and extended his arms outward, falling for perhaps several stories before Tony plucked him from the sky as the image irradiated in brilliant white from the explosion. The cameraman cursed as the windows visibly shook with the force of the blast.

The first video ended, and seconds later another began, this one monochromatic and gritty. Loki could just make out the very edges of the Iron Man suit above the rim of a crater in a Manhattan street, with Hawkeye groaning and rubbing his ears as he pushed himself to his knees beside the crater.

Yet Tony had not moved.

“Jarvis,” Loki whispered, “Is he-?” Loki closed his eyes briefly, his gut churning, before the AI responded again.

“I am receiving limited feedback from the suit. The suit is severely damaged. Fortunately the blast also took out several of the remaining DoomBots, and Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov have, as they say, cleaned house. Agent Romanov is approaching Sir’s position now.”

The screen cleared again, and this time the image displayed the logo for a local news station, the text across the bottom of the screen proclaiming the feed to be live from the Upper East Side. Loki’s jaw clenched as he watched Romanova sprint to Barton’s side. She touched him on the shoulder carefully, and the assassin spun, surprised. Romanova made some odd movements with her hands before Barton nodded to her and pointed to his ears, before she and Barton knelt beside Tony and began laboriously removing sections of armor from Tony’s form.

Piece by piece, the red and gold disappeared, until a dazed-looking Tony emerged to sit up and wave dramatically towards the camera. A roar from the crowds gathered behind the cameraman startled Loki, and he blinked back tears as he realized that hundreds of humans had gathered at the barriers around the street placed hastily by NYPD, and stood there, cheering as Tony’s crumpled suit was peeled away. The camera zoomed in, and Loki wiped at an errant tear as he saw the mortal’s face. His nose was bloodied and broken, it was clear even from this distance, and a bruise blossomed on the mortal’s jaw. Tony’s left shoulder seemed to hang unnaturally, but he was grinning like an idiot and waiving his good arm so valiantly that Loki could swear he saw Romanova roll her eyes.

Shortly thereafter, Rogers arrived on the scene, jogging up with that ridiculous shield on his arm, and the roar of the crowd grew deafening, before a black Midgardian transport vehicle arrived and SHIELD agents loaded everyone inside.

As the live transmission ended, Loki stood and paced to the window. When he had his seidr back, Loki vowed, this supposed mortal magician, this Victor von Doom, would suffer the wrath of the gods. He cursed, his hands clenched, and vowed it again. Doom would _suffer_.

Outside the sky had taken an orange tint as the sun slipped lower across the Manhattan skyline, and Loki rested his forehead on the window. He squinted at the streets below, leaning into the very window he’d thrown Tony through almost nine months ago, as though if he looked just a bit further into the distance he could see the transport, carrying the mortal and the other Avengers home. The glass was cool against his almost-feverish skin, and he let his shoulders sag with relief. Anger bled away into gut-wrenching fear, and sweet relief, and his knees gave way.

Loki sank to the floor, his arms curled into his sides, and he closed his eyes, the darkness of his thoughts surrounding him, for those brief moments when he’d assumed the worst, when he’d thought that no mortal could have survived that fall, when he’d thought Tony would be lost forever.

* * *

Loki woke later to a gentle touch on his shoulder in the darkened penthouse. He flinched violently, smacking his head on the glass before he managed to open his eyes.

Romanova had sat herself before him, her legs folded and something resting in her lap, one hand extended as though she had been the one to wake him, and Loki glanced carefully around his surroundings. The lights were dimmed across the room, and outside the city sparkled in the blues and greens and yellows of night. Loki straightened his back to lean against the window and extended his long legs outward, carefully stretching the kinks out of his shoulders. 

“Is Stark back?” he managed finally, his throat dry and aching more than he thought it should, and he swiped at his eyes to find them tight, as though he’d cried for hours on his mother’s knee as a child.

“No,” she said, and Loki’s eyes widened in alarm before she held up her hand, “He’s fine, just staying in medical overnight on Banner’s orders. Sedated, of course. Dislocated shoulder with a small rotator tear, and a possible concussion, but otherwise he will be fine. He should be back in the morning.”

Loki nodded once and rubbed his face, “And Clint?” he surprised himself, and his face scrunched into a scowl at the name, unnatural on his tongue.

Romanova’s lips curled into the barest of smiles. “He lived. The blast destroyed his hearing aids, so he’s pissed off and being difficult. But he lived.”

“I am glad,” Loki said, and he was almost annoyed to realize his voice had sounded sincere, as though he was too tired to even muster the sarcasm that he’d hidden behind for centuries. 

Without warning, Romanova pushed the object in her lap into his hands, and Loki cradled the object, surprised by the weight. “These are for you,” she said, “to replace the one that Doom took, or the last one that you believe to be carefully hidden in your closet.”

Loki felt his mouth drop open as he pushed away the material to find perfectly formed and weighted throwing knives made entirely of some smooth stone compound that he couldn’t identify. He’d seen these before, he thought as he lifted one small knife to study the weight. They were small but easily palmed, and weighted perfectly for his fighting strengths. He made to lay out the knives as he pulled back the material, in total five throwing knives in a perfectly formed holster and two longer weapons for close combat.

He looked up to find Romanova watching him, and he hesitated, fingering the sharp edge of one of the knives carefully. The edge glittered as though it were composed of minerals, and it was sharp even carefully held against his fingertip, the weight behind the weapon hefty enough that he had no doubt it would pierce through the metallic shell of a DoomBot when handled properly. The skin of the material almost swallowed the light of the room, its surface smooth and dark, and void of metallic inlays.

“To what do I owe this display of trust, Agent?” he finally said, his voice lilting on her title intentionally.

“Natasha,” she corrected, tutting her lip as she stood. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that. Now come eat, Jarvis ordered pizza and Steve’s making cookies.”

Loki huffed an annoyed breath, but trailed after her to the elevator.


	27. Finding money in your pocket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Working on a FrostIron Big Bang at the same time and that's rather hurting my word count here. But that will be done soon, and we'll settle down with work and holidays and return to our usual fast-paced schedule. (See this? Me channeling the eternal optimism of Hiddles? Ha.)

Loki woke to find a presence hovering on the edge of his vision, a dark form that looked out of place as it sat precariously on the rim of the mattress. 

“Dim lights please, Jarvis,” Loki called as he sat up slowly, careful not to dislodge the figure.

Gentle light filled the room, revealing Tony’s battered form. Loki reached a careful hand to skim his fingers across the material wrapped around Stark’s left arm, which positioned his arm securely across his chest. Stark’s face was a smattering of bruises, with white splinting tape around his nose and two small strips across his brow covering a nasty cut. His bottom lip was purpled and split, and Loki thought he could see the edges of a mark] against Tony’s left temple.

“Lo-Lo,” Tony slurred; his voice was gruff and he sounded intoxicated to Loki.

“I thought you were to be kept sedated and remain overnight for observation.”

“Was,” Tony mumbled. “Left. Couldn’t sleep. Sang song that never ends so they’d release me. Those meds got nothing on scotch.”

Loki bit down a chuckle. “Was that wise? Aren’t you injured?”

“Concussion maybe. Dislocated shoulder. Broke my nose, maybe a rib,” Tony snorted. “Wake me up every few hours, Jarvis?” 

“As always, it is my pleasure to keep you from dying, Sir.”

“Dying?” Loki choked back a sob. “I thought you were not badly hurt, I thought-”

“Hey, hey. Snowflake, I’m not dying. Bad joke, Jarvis,” the mortal grumbled, his free hand reaching for Loki’s arm. “Just wanted to come home. Not dying.”

“My apologies, Mr. Lie-Smith. I assure you, I am monitoring Sir’s vitals and will alert medical authorities should assistance be needed. He is, indeed, not dying.”

“See? Just tired,” Tony muttered. “Wanted to come home. Sleep.”

Tony leaned forward into Loki’s shoulder, and the god put a careful arm around the mortal’s head. He slowly eased Tony forward, until he lay on his back with his injured shoulder positioned opposite, and Loki settled down beside him, careful to keep his distance. Stark looked terrible; deep purple rimmed his eyes and his skin where it wasn’t bruised and battered had taken a sallow color. A small bandage covered the crook of his elbow and Loki didn’t want to know what sort of backwards Midgardian medical techniques had required additional holes to be punched through the mortal’s skin as part of his treatment.

“Lights off please, Jarvis,” Loki said, and he flinched in surprise as Tony’s uninjured arm tucked around his shoulders and pulled Loki towards him, until Tony tucked the god’s head against his and tangled his fingers in Loki’s long hair.

“Sleep,” Tony whispered. 

* * *

 

When he woke in the morning—and it was clearly morning even though no light shown through the blackout shades of Tony’s bedroom—Tony had not moved an inch in the night, his one good arm still carefully tucked against Loki’s hair. A quiet chime alerted Loki that Jarvis had a message, and the god looked up to the opposite wall as words materialized in the air. 

“Ms. Potts is waiting for you in the lounge, Mr. Lie-Smith,” the words read, and Loki carefully disentangled himself from Tony’ s sleeping form before he pulled on his jeans and padded out.

“Good morning!” Potts greeted him as he stepped across the room, and she absently pointed at a mug and a box on the coffee table before she turned back to the laptop on her knees. Loki looked at the table, surprised to find that Potts had brought him tea and a box of donuts. He selected a confectionary-sugar covered donut from the box. “You should probably get dressed after you eat that,” Potts said. “Nat will be here shortly.”

“Pardon?” Loki said, licking the sugar from his fingers.

“Oh!” Potts huffed a chuckle as she covered her face with her hands. “Goddamn it, Tony,” and Loki frowned, wondering why she seemed upset all of a sudden. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“He didn’t tell me what?” Loki hesitated. “Does this have something to do with SHIELD?”

“Goodness, no!” exclaimed Potts. “We’re taking you shopping.”

“Shopping?” he coughed, choking on his tea. “Whatever for?”

The elevator dinged behind him as Potts handed him a small plastic card, and Loki took it, examining the smooth plastic. He recognized this object, he mused, it was similar in design and color to the object Tony used in London to pay for their purchases while wandering through the city or at various cafes. And then he read the name on the card.

“Loki Lyesmith?” he asked, as he looked over to see Romanova perched on the armchair to his right. “Is this one of the documents that SHIELD has agreed to provide?”

“Not exactly,” Potts said. “Tony had me order you a credit card, and-”

“It’s Christmas in a few weeks, you have to buy a gift for Stark,” Romanova interrupted. “It’s an Earth tradition, or at least, it is a tradition on the part of Earth Stark hails from. And besides, it’s money in your pocket, or as close as it comes, nowadays.”

Loki sighed. Somehow Romanova always knew what item he was to work through on the list. It was almost as though Tony had somehow made a point of secretly updating his fellow Avengers.

“I’m going to have to decline, unfortunately. Stark is still injured, he shouldn’t be left alone,” Loki tried to return the card to Potts.

“Tony’s not going to be released from medical until this afternoon.” Romanova said, and Loki paused before he turned to look at her. It was as though she didn’t realize Tony _had_ already been released, and Loki bit the edge of his lip in what he hoped she would interpret as a nervous gesture as the thought occurred to him that perhaps no one actually knew Tony had left the medical ward. Had Jarvis organized an escape for his inventor, and not told Loki last night? That was a level of secrecy he had not expected from what he understood to be a programmable artificial construct. But this, the ability to make such a decision, struck Loki as something greater, something almost bordering on magical.

“Is that so?” Loki mused, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Then I suppose I am out of arguments.” Loki gracefully came to his feet, and turned towards the penthouse stairs. “I’ll return shortly, prepared for our outing.”

He ignored Romanova and Potts as he made his way across the room, but once he reached his closet in the old guest suite, he closed the door with a silent click, his hands thumbing the lock.

“Jarvis, can either of our guests hear me from this distance?” he whispered.

“You are well away from any prying ears, Mr. Lie-Smith. Does this conversation pertain to Mr. Stark’s present whereabouts?”

“Did you _help_ him leave a healing room without authorization, Construct?” Loki demanded.

“I functioned within the parameters provided to me by my creator, Trickster.”

Loki smirked as he quickly dressed. “I take it that Bruce is aware of these parameters?”

“Indeed. Sir’s release from medical was, as always, conditional upon Doctor Banner being made aware and remaining within residence of the tower while the need for observation continues. And I _am_ monitoring his vitals, Mr. Lie-Smith.”

Loki waived his hand dismissively. “I know you value his life, Jarvis.”

The silence that followed his proclamation made Loki smile for some reason. It was ridiculously strange to become sentimental over the affections of an artificial construct that didn’t contain a bodily form, yet.

When he returned, Romanova and Potts had polished off several more of the donuts and Loki followed the pair into the elevator without argument.

The experience of actually purchasing objects within the marketplaces of Midgard was something Loki had not expected to enjoy; in London, Tony had forced Loki to buy several suits and other casual outfits, and Loki had been willing to acquiesce because of how Stark _looked_ at him in those tight jeans or fitted suits that had been custom tailored to his form. But Loki had merely accepted what was provided, following along as Tony dictated to the staff a range of options and nodding his permission to various shades and patterns. The experience of actually selecting which stores to visit, and looking in particular for objects to be gifted for others? It was as unfamiliar as the traditions of Midgard. Gift-giving on Asgard was a rare thing; it was rare to celebrate the annual birth of an Aesir, but anniversaries of every one hundred years were most likely to be celebrated.

By mid-morning, Loki had become adapt at using the Midgardian payment device, signing his new name with flourish at vendor after vendor. After a short while, he had amassed quite a number of bags and items for the upcoming festivities, before Potts declared that it was time for lunch. The three settled into a secluded table for their midday meal with Potts ordering the wine, and Loki was thoroughly amused with how much he had enjoyed the outing with the two red-headed women. Aside from the occasional visit to the tower for Stark to sign company paperwork, he’d not seen Potts since that night when she had unexpectedly showed for dinner, and he found the mortal woman to be sharp and intelligent, with a quick wit and genial nature.

Several glasses of wine later, Loki regretted his earlier affections for her wit. Loki had just mentioned the story about Stark making him stand in a bin of dirt with planted flowers in the workshop, when Potts grinned and licked her lips.

“So how is it? Spill, Loki,” she demanded.

Loki glanced to Romanova, to find the assassin studying him just as intently. The god picked up his wine glass and raised an eyebrow, “I was under the impression that spilling one’s drink was an insult to the establishment here on Earth.”

Potts rolled her eyes and Romanova cracked a smile. “It’s a figure of speech. It means we want the scoop.”

“The… scoop?” Loki probed.

“Well, according to the tabloids, you’ve landed the hottest bachelor on Earth,” Pepper grinned, and Loki couldn’t find any malice in her expression. She genuinely seemed to be pleased with the news, which Loki was grateful for, even if it was unexpected. “I mean, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked in the last week whether I was alright with this change, if I like the new man in Mr. Stark’s life, whether this had anything to do with his decision not to provide weapons to the military any longer, whether I made Tony gay or did I know that Tony was gay when he and I were an item, which is ridiculous, because clearly he’s bi. So spill it, Loki. Is he as good in bed with guys as he is with the ladies? I know he used to love receiving, but that wasn’t my thing. That man, I swear, the most ambidextrous kinks list I’ve ever seen.”

As his cheeks warmed, Loki glanced around the restaurant. The table that the matron had seated the trio at was far from the others, tucked away in an alcove by the window, and outside Loki could see the sky darkening as the winter sun ducked behind a cloud.

It wasn’t merely that Potts wanted to discuss what would be a taboo topic on Asgard that bothered Loki. No, he’d come to understand that on Earth, relationships between those of the same gender were, in some regions, regarded differently than in the golden realm, were tolerated generally, if not accepted outright in certain places on Midgard. But that Potts would just so casually mention, and assume, without any sort of apparent judgment in her tone, that Tony would be willing to receive, to take the place of the woman in their relationship, to do what Loki had been taught his whole life was shameful, wrong, and painfully improper for a prince? And she mentioned it so casually, as though it truly didn’t matter, when even he and Tony had not between themselves discussed any sort of arrangement? Because until this very moment, he had not assumed that Stark—the epitome of masculinity on this wayward realm—would _ever_ consent to receive rather than give?

He carefully set his wine down and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand as his fingers grew colder and almost tinged blue at first glance.  “I have no idea how to answer your inquiry, Ms. Potts. Would it be too late for me to pretend that Stark is just a friend?”

Romanova snorted loudly beside him, and he shot her a nasty glare.

“Bullshit,” Potts protested. “Don’t tell me the God of Lies is a prude.”

Romanova rolled her eyes. “Pepper, please. Let him be, else I’m going to face all sort of uncomfortable questions regarding Barton when Stark hears of this.”

“Oh, yes,” Loki grinned, and turned toward Romanova. He caught the subtle wink as their eyes met, and he reminded himself to thank her later, preferably with the procurement of something sparkly with Tony’s credit card. “Do tell us, _Natasha_ ,” Loki leered, “does the Archer’s aim always ring true?”

“Loki!” Pepper squeaked, and then the matron appeared to ask after dessert and coffee, and the conversation drifted on.

Later, much later, after the trio had returned to the tower with Potts taking her leave and Romanova retuning to her own floor, Loki entered the penthouse with his packages in tow, to find Tony curled up on the couch beside an empty donut box. After depositing his purchases in his room, Loki sat carefully beside the sleeping mortal and ran his fingers gently through the mortal’s hair, watching as Tony’s chest rose and fell with each breath, in and out.

“Jarvis, has he been asleep for long?” whispered Loki.

An equally quiet voice responded, “Not more than an hour, just shortly before you returned, Mr. Lie-Smith. Doctor Banner convinced Sir to take his pain medication after lunch, and the combined effect without caffeine has rendered him drowsy, as you see now.”

“Very well. Please wake me if he awakes or if Bruce returns,” Loki yawned, and he carefully eased Tony’s head onto his lap, whilst his fingers threaded through the mortal’s hair. The last thing he remembered before he closed his eyes was the feeling of Tony’s warm, calm breaths against his jeans.


	28. Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

It took Tony the better part of two weeks to design and fit an exoskeleton arm brace that would fit over his injured shoulder and do the inventor’s heavy lifting while his shoulder recovered, and for Loki, the damnable contraption couldn’t have been finished sooner.

After working daily with the mortal in the lab, putting up with Tony’s coffee-fueled binges and panic attacks, listening to the inventor’s daily rant about Barton’s hearing aid tech that had been destroyed in the battle but Barton _still_ refused to allow Tony to design new ones, and lifting and welding various objects and devices as Tony barked orders to the god from the sidelines, Loki had learned more about caffeine overdoses and Midgardian technology than he ever truly desired to know.

But Bruce had been adamant. Tony’s arm must remain in the sling for two weeks while the ligaments healed, and after that, for another two months Tony was not to lift anything heavier than his coffee mug or a pint of milk. And if anyone, Bruce had said, would be able to keep Tony from further injuring himself by ignoring the good doctor’s orders, it was Loki.  

The brace that Tony invented was nothing short of brilliant, of course. Not only did it provide the lift and torque needed while Tony’s shoulder healed, but Tony had also managed to include within its programming a series of exercises designed to gently regain movement so that the mortal wouldn’t need to actually attend additional physical therapy sessions. Now, every time Tony sat still for a few moments before one of his monitors or with his StarkTab, the shoulder brace whirred into action, gently stretching and running through the exercise movements with the precise level of strength and torque needed for that stage of his recovery. Bruce had rolled his eyes at that, to Loki’s amusement, and mumbled something about how Stark did everything he could to avoid leaving the workshop, but Pepper had already had Stark Industries begin the process for patenting the concept and a scaled-down version of the device as a medical therapy tool.

Which was why, for once, Loki found himself alone in the penthouse, while Tony met with Stark Industries’ intellectual property attorneys and marketing department to demonstrate the capabilities and concepts of his design, when Agent Hill called him in to SHIELD.

Steve went with him, because Tony was still angry over Fury’s treatment of Loki the last time he had visited, and, Loki mused, because Steve was the official leader of the Avengers Initiative. Not that Steve seemed bothered, though.

“So the biometrics testing is really simple,” Steve said on the short drive over. “I did it last week. They’ll strap you into a fancy metal chair and then ask some questions. Some are clearly wrong to gage your responses, that sort of thing. Then they asked me some questions designed to bring about strong emotions too, just to see what your reaction is, so don’t be surprised. Supposedly Nat was able to fool the monitors when they tested it, but she denies that. I’ll be there the whole time, and they’re not supposed to ask about… you know who.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You can call him by his name, he’s not Voldemort.”

“Really?” the Captain asked, “So is his name really ‘The Other’ then? Is that what everyone called him?”

“I wasn’t exactly inclined to ask after The Other’s formal name during my stay, Captain,” Loki responded coolly as he stepped out of the car.

Steve shrugged, a dusting of red creeping across his cheeks, and Loki sighed as the Captain caught his shoulder as they entered SHIELD’s headquarters. “No hard feelings?”

“None,” confirmed Loki, and he turned to see Agent Hill approaching. She examined his shoes, which Loki had worn one red and one green converse in honor of the upcoming festivities the following day.

“Gentlemen, we’re ready for you,” she gestured to a corridor off the entry, with one lone guard in black seated in an alcove along the way. “The chair will measures your responses to a few non-sequential questions, gage your reactions. Well, with some modifications made for your different physiology, of course, but, fortunately, for now you’re human enough.”

“The good Captain has already explained,” Loki interjected, as Hill waived him forward. The room was small, not much more than an oddly placed silver chair and several monitors, and barely enough room for Hill and the Captain to stand behind the screens. The chair itself looked like a slightly more demonical version of the chairs Loki had observed on the television where mortals sat to clean their teeth, with locking braces on each armrest and the headrest and edges that glowed in a cool blue not different from the color of Stark’s reactor at night. The room was cooler than normal Midgardian climates, and Loki crossed his arms to ward off the cold as he stepped forward. “And this device… this is the test that even Agent Romanova could not lie to?” Loki asked.

“Whoever told you that, Loki?” Hill grinned, her teeth barred like a wolf. “We’ll start with some general questions for a baseline. What is your full name?”

Loki hesitated. “On Midgard, I suppose my name on the paperwork is Loki Lyesmith, but I am formerly known as Loki Odinson."

“Please list your immediate family,” Hill continued.

Loki let the grin slide across his face as his eyes narrowed, “Immediate family? None living.” 

Hill blinked in surprise at the screen, before she rolled her eyes, “Loki, please list those who would consider themselves your immediate family.” 

“Frigga and Thor,” Loki said.

“What’s the difference between an egg and a rock?” Hill said.

Loki’s eyebrows shot up. “What an odd question. How would that help you determine a baseline?”

“Just answer the question,” Hill ordered. “First thing that comes to mind.”

“Very well,” Loki drummed his fingers on the chair, his hands twitching as he momentarily forgot he couldn’t cross his arms while secured in the wristlets. “I presume eggs are edible on Midgard as they are in Asgard, so the difference is that eggs are soft, not edible, and not easy to transport. However, eggs are vastly superior for throwing at palace guards if one does not wish to cause injury. If injury is one’s objective, though, a rock is—“

“That’s enough.”

Loki chuckled, “Really, shouldn’t I continue? Are you sure this is for a baseline?”

“You wash up on a deserted island alone, and sitting on the sand is a box. What is in that box?”

“A functional Iron Man suit so I could fly away from the island. Or better yet, Stark in an Iron Man suit so I wouldn’t have to hunch my shoulders over inside that midget’s suit myself.”

Steve’s surprised chuckle echoed across the room, and Hill shot an exasperated look in the super soldier’s direction before she continued,  “Have you ever had any contact with Victor Von Doom?”

“Victor von Doom, also known as Doctor Doom, yes?” Loki interrupted.

“Mr. Lie-Smith, please just answer the question. Have you ever had any contact with Victor von Doom?”

“If he is the creator of those moronic robots that continually come out to play in the city, then I’ve had contact with him,” Loki spat. “That idiot sent one of his robotic monstrosities to the tower and attempted to bodily apprehend me, to study my seidr. Stark says he thinks himself as some sort of Midgardian sorcerer, which is a ridiculous notion considering you mortals don’t have the internal structure to sustain magic. Doom is also responsible for the attack a few weeks ago that injured Stark.  For these actions alone, Doom _will_ suffer.”

“Who’s going to make him suffer, Loki? Last I checked the All-Father made you mortal for your extended Earth holiday,” a voice from the back of the room demanded, and Loki grinned unexpectedly, and let his arms and shoulders relax against the uncomfortable metal chair.

“Why, Director Fury,” Loki said, cocking his head to the side, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Rogers, get out,” demanded Fury as he strolled across the room.

“Uh. No?” Rogers said.

“Fine,” Fury grinned, the skin behind his eye-patch tightening in a grotesque curve of scar tissue that reminded Loki of another one-eyed warrior. “But don’t come crying to me when you learn something you didn’t want to know about the Avengers’ pet god.”

“I see,” Loki mused. “So now we get down to the real questions, Director?”

Steve looked nervous behind Hill, and Loki let the corner of his mouth slide up in the imitation of an amused smirk as Steve looked in his direction. Hill nodded once to Fury as she tapped out a command code on the computer.

“Norse mythology makes reference to Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent and supposed child of the giantess Angrboða and yourself. Does such a creature exist?” Hill asked.

Loki forced a laugh. “No. That’s a tale that the Warriors Three made up one night when we were on Midgard in our youth. They were quite tipsy, if I remember.”

He thought he saw the smallest uptick of Hill’s lips in amusement, as she continued, but she didn’t glance up from the readings on the screen before her. “And is the same true for the other two children of this supposed union, a wolf named Fenrir and a daughter named Hel?”

“Also false,” Loki confirmed, and he couldn’t help the grin that alighted on his face. “Are we going to discuss more of Norse mythology? Because I feel as though I should mention that the last time I was on Midgard before, well, _this_ whole fiasco, I may have enjoyed a rather more creative license with events then.”

“In other words, you were a child and you liked to tell stories,” interrupted Hill, and this time Loki did see the grin forming on her carefully held composure.

“Yes, that would be accurate,” he conceded.

“If Jörmungandr is not real, does that mean the concept of Ragnarök is likewise false?” Hill questioned.

“Every culture on Midgard has such a story," Loki explained. “Just the other day Tony mentioned how some Midgardian cultures believe the world might end when the Mayan calendar ended. Is it a surprise to learn that Asgard had such stories as well? These are children’s stories, Agent.” 

“Have you ever been married before?” Hill asked. 

Loki hesitated. His marriage had been political, and it obviously was not part of the legends if Hill didn’t know enough to ask by name, but-

“Loki, have you ever been married before?”

“Once,” He said plainly. “It was political. Arranged.”

“Did the union produce any offspring?”

“Yes.”

“How many children from that union, and where do they now reside now?”

Loki stared at his fingertips, white and smooth. The edge of his index finger skimmed the armrest and he fought the urge to curl his hands into fists, to let the sadness overwhelm him as he thought about his sons. Blue upon blue waivered, but did not press forward, and Loki let the sterile environment and smells of SHIELD’s office wash away his memories from that day. 

“I do not wish to discuss this matter, Agent,” he said, and he struggled to maintain his façade as Steve whispering angrily to Fury and Hill, before Fury made a dismissive gesture and stepped forward to watch the monitor results.

“SHIELD has released you to the custody of the Avengers, the All-Father agreed to permit you to serve probation for your acts against Earth but you could have served probation on Asgard instead. What are you still doing here?” Fury asked.

“I wish Earth no harm,” Loki said carefully.

“Oh really? Then what are you still doing here? You know your old buddies are going to come looking for you.”

“Director,” Rogers started, but Loki waved a hand dismissively.

“I have no intention to return to the hands of Thanos or The Other, ever. But I believe you’ve already understood that their attack on Midgard was not my doing, nor was it within my power to prevent it. Nor will disposing of me prevent their return here.”

Fury stood to pace in the tight space of the room, and Loki tracked his movements. The man was unpredictable, Loki thought, with tight lines and angry jerking steps that belayed the underlying grace and power of his form.

“What is your relationship with Anthony Stark?” Hill continued.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Truly?”

"Answer the question, Real Power, otherwise our deal is off,” Fury snarled.

“It’s complicated,” Loki gnawed on his lower lip. “Tony is a good friend, more than a friend. He, ah, understands me.”

“Just a friend?” Fury taunted. “Do you actually love him? Care about him at all?”

Loki bit back a growl. “I’d think that would be private even from SHIELD, Director.”

“Not private if my consultant is somehow being manipulated.” Fury retorted.

“With all due respect, sir, Tony is not being manipu-”

“Stay out of this, Rogers!” Fury snapped.

“What would you like me to say, Director? Yes, as your media claims, I am with Earth’s most eligible bachelor.”

“Are you having sexual relations with Stark?”

Loki smirked again. “Define sexual relations.”

“It’s not a trick question, Lie-Smith.”

“What would you like me to say?” Loki jeered, before he licked his lips, “Do you want me to say that Stark is very _talented_ with his mouth? That he has quite a _sharp_ tongue? Would those answers satisfy that _itch_ you have, Director Fury?”

“Are you fucking him?” Fury leaned forward, letting his fists rest on the table as he leveled a glare at Loki. It might have been intimidating, but Loki remembered with sudden clarity the man’s attempts to interrogate him when he was held in the glass box, when he had done nothing but tease the god with his captivity, but had never hurt him when he was SHIELD’s prisoner.

“I’m not sure how that’s any of your concern, Director Fury,” Steve said, and Loki was amused to note that the super soldier’s cheeks and ears were flushed.

“Rogers, I have a right to know just how far _my_ consultant, for _my_ organization, that defends _my_ planet, has gone with the alien bastard who last led an invading force against _my_ planet,” Fury needled. “And if Real Power wants asylum on _my_ planet, he will play by _my_ rules.”

“Fine. We are together sexually, if you must know,” Loki snorted, as he made a show of studying his fingernails. “Is that a problem, Director?”

But Fury leaned back and barked a laugh. “Together sexually, you say. What is this, middle school? You mean to tell me that you haven’t _actually_ fucked around with Stark, after sleeping in his bed for how long? Stark, the man who has had so many one-night stands that even SHIELD cannot track them all down, and he won’t even _touch_ you?”

Loki blanched. “What?”

Fury waved him away. “We’re done here. Bye Real Power, it was fun.”

Loki watched in confusion as the man strolled from the room, his coat billowing behind him as Hill came forward to disengage the armbands and other monitoring devices. Was there a reason that mortals—that Pepper and Fury and Barton—kept asking after this? Maybe sex meant more on Midgard than in Asgard, and Loki’s chest constricted painfully at the thought, maybe without sex on Midgard, a mortal’s affections could not be gaged properly? That without it—

And Tony had said that he wasn’t supposed to touch Loki, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what he said? Or that he wasn’t supposed to _be_ with Loki instead? His stomach clenched painfully, as though one of the dark elves’ poisons had wormed inside and cemented his insides together, burning through the sensitive flesh like it were nothing of consequence.

For the briefest of moments, Loki wished for Thor’s presence; the bulky idiot had always understood social graces on Asgard better than Loki, Thor could tell Loki what was expected on Midgard. Could tell Loki that he was overthinking things, that no such rules existed. Didn’t Thor have his own mortal, the woman that he’d met in London with Tony; is that why she was still so attached to the blond oaf? But no, her dark-haired friend had said they’d not consummated their relationship either, so that must mean that this was not as important on Midgard as—

Steve touched his shoulder, and Loki looked up to realize that Hill had already left and his hands were tingling and tinted almost blue. He closed his fingers into tight fists.

“Tell me Captain,” Loki sniffed, “this is the second time recently that someone has demanded to know what form my relationship with Stark takes. Is this a, ah, ‘thing’ on Midgard?”

“I dunno,” Rogers sighed. “I’m just as lost as you, Loki. Back in my day, no one would even ask. Unless they were anglin’ for a punch.”

“I confess, Fury’s line of questioning makes me… uneasy. And the worst part,” Loki began, “is that Fury was right. Tony hasn’t— We aren’t— Why won’t he touch me? Perhaps I _am_ as monstrous as—”

“Hey, that’s not true. You know that,” Rogers interjected.

“But Tony said, he _said_ , he wasn’t supposed to touch me—” Loki’s voice sounded high-pitched and stressed even to his own ears. “Why?”

“Ask Tony,” Rogers said, and the gentle pressure on his shoulder tightened. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. Was he even sober?”

Loki blinked, and thought about it. “No.”

“Exactly,” Rogers glared at the door that Fury had left through. “Fury’s trying to upset you. Maybe for the test? Don’t let him.”

Loki sighed, but stood and squared his shoulders. “Are we free to depart now? I wish to return to the penthouse and the company of more predictable mortals.”

Steve chuckled, but Loki could tell the man was uncomfortable as he guided Loki out from SHIELD’s offices. Hill wasn’t anywhere to be found as the two quickly made their way past security and into a waiting taxi outside.

* * *

Tony found him later on the balcony, seated on one of the fancy outdoor chairs that the billionaire had insisted on procuring when he discovered how much Loki liked to sit outside, a green blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his hair whipped in wild tangles by the cold December winds. Without a word, Tony used his prosthetic-enhanced arm to pull Loki up from the chair and guided the half-frozen Frost Giant inside.

“Damn it, Lokes,” Tony cursed as he pulled the taller man towards the couch, and Loki absently noticed that two steaming mugs sat on the coffee table, one with his tea and the second smelling strongly of Tony’s favorite coffee. “If you’re going to sit outside in December, at least change to your Jotun form. Shit, your skin is freezing.”

“The cold never bothered me,” Loki tried to pull away, but Tony rested his arm across the god’s shoulders and pulled him down into the couch with his enhanced strength. Loki relented, and the mortal sank against the cushions beside him.

“Yeah, yeah. Listen,” Tony’s fingers from his good arm drummed nervously on his knee. “Steve came by my workshop. So… Uh. We gotta talk, Snowflake.”

Loki closed his eyes and let his chin fall forward, his tangled hair curtaining around his face in a dark wave. Several hours of sulking on the balcony had done nothing to assuage his worries, no, instead he’d thought of every single gesture, every touch, and every moment with the mortal he’d come to find the presence of so comforting. And nothing added up, to Loki, nothing made sense. But now, he wanted to talk. Mortification burned in his chest and he inhaled sharply, letting the comforting smells wash over him, memorizing them, sinking into the smell of Tony’s coffee, of his warmth and the feeling of his body lined so close to Loki’s, where his hip and knee and thigh touched the god’s own leg. Memorizing that gentle pressure, because _nothing good_ ever came from your lover asking to talk.

“Fuck, this has not gotten easier,” Tony muttered, and Loki peeked around his tangled waves to see the anxious turn of Tony’s muddy brown eyes as the mortal stared at the windows, the last edges of the day reflected like a rain-dirtied mirror, and Loki felt the first of what would surely be many tears slip down his cheek.

“Thing is, I sorta fucked this up, Lokes,” Tony said, and the smaller man’s leg fidgeted, his knee bouncing up and down in an anxious twitch. It seemed to Loki like Stark wanted to be anywhere else, anywhere but the penthouse couch with Loki.

“It’s fine,” Loki whispered. “I can move to one of the other floors, there are plenty of rooms.”

“What?” Tony turned, his enhanced arm tightening almost imperceptibly around Loki’s shoulders. “What are you saying? Lo-Lo, I don’t want-”

“You don’t want _me_ , Stark, that much is obvious.” Loki pulled away from Tony’s embrace, careful not to strain the mortal’s injured arm but with enough force to avoid the pull of the metal apparatus as he stood. “You don’t have to say it, Stark.”

The shadows stretched out along the floor, and Loki felt his heart beat in time with the thickness of the air, stagnant and black, and Loki stood suddenly. Tony’s left hand fastened around his wrist, the exoskeleton structure of his temporary prosthetic curled in smooth metal around his wrist against Loki’s pulse points, and beneath the metal running the length of Tony’s fingers he felt the mortal’s flesh press firmly into his wrist.

“Let go,” Loki growled. 

Tony blinked, then swiped at his eyes with his free hand, and Loki was surprised to see tears when Tony’s hand moved. “Loki. Why would you think that? What—” Stark choked back a sob. “What have I done?”

“Not ‘supposed’ to,” mimicked Loki in an ugly tone. “Back in the tent, you said you weren’t ‘supposed to’ be with me. Why? Because I’m the monster that invaded earth? The nightmare of Asgard? It’s enough to kiss and tell with monsters, I know, but—”

Tony made a strangled-sounding noise that dissolved into a giggle, and Loki let out a frustrated shout as he wrenched his arm free from Tony’s grasp. His lungs constricted, it was all black and gray and red pounding against his skull, and Loki screamed his rage as he reached out and and flipped the glass coffee table across the room. The glass top shattered along with the coffee mugs, flinging broken fragments and liquid in all directions. In the corner of his eye he could see Stark raising his arms to cover his face from a shower of fragments as the mortal cursed, and Loki wondered at the detachment he felt, the fact that his anger had numbed everything else, that his regret felt so far away at that moment. It was like watching one of the mortal world’s moving pictures, vested in the characters but impossible to move, to care beyond watching and observing.

Stark continued to giggle hysterically, and Loki’s shoulders shook with anger.

“It’s not amusing, you ant!” the god shouted, as he heaved a great breath and his long fingers curled tightly against his palms. “Tell me Stark, are you _mocking_ me, too? Do you call Fury and laugh about how the poor misguided monster you’ve adopted in your tower thinks he is wanted, when you have supposedly had more lovers than SHIELD can locate and won’t—” his voice cracked, and Loki inhaled shakily, “wont even touch me? When you aren’t ‘supposed to’ touch me?”

Stark stood, and Loki watched as the genius clenched his jaw so tightly that Loki was sure his teeth would crack. The god’s eyes fell closed, defeated. This was it. As Tony’s coffee soaked into the cushions of the couch, the dark leather dappled with wet spots, Loki felt the physical weight in his chest, and he exhaled. It was over. It had never begun. It was surely over now, regardless.

He jerked in surprise as arms encircled his chest, one clad in a metal framework, and the arms tugged Loki forward until the gap between his body and Stark’s had disappeared entirely. He felt the mortal shudder against is chest and Loki bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, as Tony’s right hand snaked up to tangle in Loki’s hair and pulled the god’s head down to rest against the shorter man’s forehead.

“Stark,” he whispered. “Let me go.”

“Shut up,” Tony growled, “Shut up, you fucking idiot.”

Loki swallowed, and shivered against the warmth of Tony’s embrace, the cold finally leaching from his skin as Tony held him pressed to his chest. The arc reactor was a firm smooth surface through Loki’s shirt, cold against even his chilled skin, and the lip of the device bit uncomfortably into the taller man’s ribs.

“Did you know,” the genius’s voice was muffled against Loki’s shoulder, “that there’s a science behind the length of a hug? Statistically, a hug must be at least twenty seconds long for it to be effective.”

“I don’t understand,” Loki muttered, as his arms came to rest loosely around Stark’s shoulders. Tears streaked down his face. 

“Of course you don’t. You’re from the mumbo-jumbo land of magic, not science. But scientists have found that in order to benefit from a hug—elevated serotonin levels, lower blood pressure, there’s more but I can’t remember them all—the hug needs to last at least twenty seconds. That is, for humans. I’m going to go ahead and guess—not scientific yet, since we haven’t done a bunch of experiments, but I’m going to go ahead and guess that for ex-prince Asgardians who are actually Jotuns, it needs to be at least a full minute-long hug to experience the same physio-chemical reactions. Maybe longer. We’ll experiment. Write up a huge scientific paper that we’ll publish on Asgard. Are there even peer review journals on Asgard?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Stark,” Loki sighed, his cheek resting against the side of Tony’s head, and the god inhaled the smell of Tony’s shampoo, of his cologne and aftershave. The fingers in his hair uncurled slightly, and Loki lifted his head to see Tony’s warm chocolate eyes studying him. There were identical tear tracks down Tony’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” the mortal continued. “I should have explained earlier. It was something I read, something about when suicide survivors should begin a new relationship after an attempt. I mean, you’ve been sex on two legs since you first strutted across my living room floor and I’ve had it bad ever since, even before we got that bad mojo out of your head. I didn’t—” Tony looked away, “I didn’t want to rush you. You’re gorgeous and scary brilliant, and I honestly stalled on finishing this stupid arm brace because I liked having you around the workshop more often, without working on something fucking scary or depressing like the HERB Finder. But I keep expecting that any minute now you’re going to wake up and figure out what a fuck-up I am. No joke, Lokes, I’m a fuck-up. I can’t keep plants alive, much less relationships. Ask anyone. I practically paid my last girlfriend to stick around while I got the guts to ask her out, and I ended up giving her my whole damn company to run anyway.”

Loki let out a watery chuckle, his arms tightening around Tony’s shoulders. “I should think Potts would injure you for saying that, Stark.”

Tony sucked in a quick breath. “Oh, fuck. She would, and probably with a spoon too. Let’s never tell her I said that. Seriously, never ever.” 

“Agreed,” Loki whispered against Tony’s hair, and he closed his eyes.

“See? I’m terrible with people,” Tony muttered into Loki’s shoulder, before warm lips trailed across his neck in a slow line, hesitating between each kiss, and Loki shivered against the gentle pressure.

“We good?” Tony whispered as he trailed kisses along Loki’s jaw line. “You get that I want you here, right?”

Loki turned to catch Tony’s mouth against his own. It was perfect, perfect and warm and cleansing, and Loki twined his arms more tightly around Tony’s shoulders, one hand reaching up to brush through the inventor’s hair, feeling the bristling-soft texture of the mortal’s goatee against his fingers as he directed the angle of the kiss. And Loki kissed him, reveling in the warmth as the inventor matched his pace, unhurried and gentle, teasing the mortal’s lips with darts of his tongue and teeth, as Tony pulled him towards their bed. The god whimpered at the taste of Tony as their tongues met finally, slightly salty and rich, roasted coffee and something spicier competing across his lips.

Tony’s knees gave way against the mattress and he held on to the god’s shoulders, pulling Loki down until the god fell forward with him. Loki groaned into the kiss, Tony’s warmth pressing firmly into him as he straddled Tony’s lap. Loki sighed as Tony deepened the kiss, and Loki felt his own answering arousal as calloused and metal-tipped hands slipped beneath his shirt and across his chest. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of Tony’s shirt, for once grateful that the injury had forced the mortal out of his usual worn-out t-shirts.

Tony gasped, breaking the kiss as the genius reached with one hand for the clasp on Loki’s jeans. “So I’m sorta still injured here, Snowflake, you’re gonna have to do all the work this time. You don’t mind, do you?”

Loki pulled back to gaze at Tony. His lips were red and swollen, and his back arched off the bed as Loki’s fingers skimmed across the bulge straining against his jeans. But Tony’s amber eyes were wide and curious, and watching Loki with such an intensity that the god didn’t know what to do. He felt exposed, as though he had been taken apart on the metal table in the workshop and analyzed by the holographic projector, and his insides were displayed in wide-screen precision with Tony’s 3-D mapping tools. As though the genius had run a hand over every surface of his soul and mapped the contours and edges.

“You want me to enter you?” he whispered, awed. 

Tony lifted his hips as Loki tugged at his grease-covered jeans. “Yeah, sure. We can take turns later if that’s what you prefer, either way,” Tony grinned and wagged his eyebrows. “That is, if you don’t mind _deigning_ to have sex with a mere mortal? Always time to change your mind, Lokes. No pressure.”

Loki rolled his eyes as he ignored the fear he saw in Tony’s expression, the painfully obvious hope in Stark’s eyes as he waited for Loki to reject him. What a mess, the god thought as he licked a perfect stripe down the mortal’s abdomen. His lips lazily took the mortal in his mouth and he hollowed out his cheeks, reveling in the surprised yelp before he licked the length of Tony’s cock and reached for the nightstand drawer.  
  
“I think I’ll manage, Stark.”


	29. Pregnancies and new life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we hit 5K of hits today (even though I'm convinced that 4,999 of those are actually me), I rushed another chapter out. Okay, that's not entirely the reason I rushed the chapter out, it just sorta happened. But whatever. Don't get technical with me, I argue for a living.
> 
> (Enjoy).

Waking up, everything was both different and the same.

Tony was just as tangled against him, arms and legs akimbo as the billionaire apparently was incapable of keeping to his side of the bed. The sheets were twisted in tight circles around them, in part because ever since he’d injured his shoulder, Tony tended to wake frequently in the night, before he would turn over and sprawl back on Loki’s chest. And the curtains were drawn just as tight against the outside world, concealing the way the winter sun crept across the sky in the late morning hour.

He didn’t want to move.

The mass of sheets and blankets curled against him, before groaning, and Loki reached with one arm to untangle his lover before the idiot would strain his shoulder doing so. The metal brace that the genius had invented sat on the other side of the room on its charging mat, a low level green light indicating that it was ready for Tony’s abuses of the day.

A scruffy face popped free from the blankets, bleary brown eyes looking up and blinking in the curtain-darkened room.

“Jarv? S’Christmas?”

“It is 10:07 AM, Sir. Captain Rogers asked that I remind you and Mr. Lie-Smith of the Christmas lunch he has planned in a few hours.”

“Time?” Tony mumbled.

“He has scheduled the lunch for 1 PM, Sir, but might I also mention that that Colonel Rhodes and Miss Potts are anticipated earlier.”

Tony’s forehead came to rest against Loki’s shoulder, and Loki felt the mortal’s warm breath as he huffed. “S’still early.”

Loki let a lazy smile pass across his lip. “Then sleep.”

Tony shifted again, careful not to put the weight on his shoulder as he moved closer to Loki. Loki helped move the blankets, and waited for Tony to settle back against him to rest, when something more firm and insistent poked his leg instead.

“Too late,” Tony whispered as he pressed forward for a messy morning kiss, his breath pungent even from this distance, “already awake.”

Loki huffed a laugh against the mortal’s lips before he pulled Tony against his chest, pressing himself firmly against the mortal’s growing interest. Tony smelled of sex and ice and scotch, and Loki’s senses felt heady as he nibbled along Tony’s jawline.

“What, no kisses?” Tony complained as Loki sucked a patch of skin above the mortal’s collarbone.

“Your breath is vile, Stark.”

“Really?” Tony ground his hips, the friction forcing a groan from Loki. “Don’t see you actually complaining, Snowflake.”

“You also don’t see me actually kissing you, do you?” Loki retorted, his long fingers wrapping around himself and Tony as he coated them both liberally.

“Seems like,” Tony groaned as Loki’s fingers travelled his length several times, “things are working out alright for you anyway.”

“I can think of several places I’d rather your vile morning-breath be spent. On my tongue is not one of them.”

“Several? You mean just one?” Tony licked his lips. “Your loss though. Maybe if you’re nice to me-“ Loki gave a particularly firm twist, and Tony cursed before he batted the god’s hands away and took them both in his right hand. The god relaxed as Stark worked them over together, his hands returning to the smaller man’s waist to keep the mortal from resting any weight on his injured shoulder.  Stark’s hands were calloused and firm, strong from his work with machines and just as delicate, and even with such short practice the mortal had quickly learned the right strength and pressure to make Loki scream.

He grunted in surprise as Tony released him suddenly, before the genius scooted forward and lifted up on his knees to slowly lower himself down on Loki.  As the genius moved his hips sideways, Loki arched his back, involuntarily lifting his hips and Stark let out an obscene noise in response. The heat was astonishing; it was as though Loki had never been warm in his entirely too long life until that moment, until he suddenly was filling and filled and felt like he was both burning and being reborn in the same instant.

Loki palmed Tony’s cock in quick, efficient moves, adding in a swirl at the end to the sensitive underside as the genius swayed back and forth on his knees. It was too much, too much and it would never be enough, and Loki looked up to find his lover’s warm brown eyes watching him, watching his face, before Tony twisted his hips again and Loki was lost into the rhythm and sensations. Soon after, Stark gave a gasp shortly before Loki, and the warmth was overwhelming, pure and white and starshine, as the god followed him into the white abyss.

He didn’t remember what happened after, but when he next opened his eyes, he saw Tony with a towel around his waist and his shoulder brace fastened in place, brushing his teeth. His hair was freshly cleaned and the genius smelled of vanilla and something more potent, against the wafting odor of coffee brewing from somewhere nearby.

“So, I can’t decide. Do I send Fury a fruit basket or a bag of dog shit?” Tony mused, his fingers running through Loki’s hair as he came to perch on the edge of the bed. “That reminds me. Jarvis, get Dum-E up here to clean up, will ya? And order me a new coffee table.”

“As you wish, Buttercup,” Jarvis responded, and Tony absently flipped the bird vaguely in the direction of the ceiling.

Loki grimaced as he pushed up to sit against the headboard. “I am sorry, Tony. I seem to be detrimental to your furnishings.”

The mortal shrugged. “I’ve done worse myself.” He stood and paced to the sink, and Loki heard the sound of water filling the basin, before Tony returned momentarily, clad only in a pair of his favored red boxers.

“On the one hand, Steve said Fury really freaked you out. One point for a bag of dog shit,” Tony said, as Loki stood and grimaced as he sniffed himself. He needed a shower, he smelled too much of Tony and mechanical grease, among other scents.

“On the other hand, we’ve moved past whatever roadblocks I inadvertently set up. One point for a fruit basket. I wonder if I can get the caterer to add a bag of dog shit to a fruit basket? Nah,” Tony grumbled, “will probably violate some city code or something.”

A clear glass wall open on both ends separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom, so that Loki could see the rest of the bathroom area and the entrance to the closet as the water fell from above. Loki watched through the shower wall as Tony paced in and out of the closet, coffee in hand. Tony had managed to find a clean pair of jeans that he was working up his hips one-handed, while his injured arm balanced the contents of a coffee mug, and Loki smirked as the genius hopped from foot to foot, the red boxers peaking over the waistband.

“I know!” Tony snapped his fingers, his amber eyes sparkling like they did right before something exploded in the workshop, “maybe we can send a fruit basket with a nice card that appropriately conveys our feelings. Something like ‘thanks for the assist, now fuck off and die, you sanctimonious prick’.”

“I don’t see why he deserves a gift,” Loki rolled his eyes, the hot water trailing through his hair and over his back and shoulders. The heat of the water brought pins and needles to his skin, and he let the tension fall away as he shampooed his hair. It really had gotten too long, Loki mused as he tried to detangle with his fingers. “We would have resolved our misunderstanding, without destruction of your furniture.”

“Or any embarrassing sentimental displays, but who’s keeping track?” Tony teased, and Loki stuck a hand up against the shower glass, mimicking the obscene expression Tony was fond of bestowing upon Barton and his AI.

Tony laughed, before he continued. “But humor me. What else did Cyclops ask about? Can you tell me the super secret questions?” Tony had perched himself on the bathroom counter across from the shower with his coffee mug in hand, and Loki wiped the glass with one hand to study the mortal through the steam-fogged view.

“Something about the difference between an egg and a rock, old Norse legends, those sorts of enquiries,” Loki said finally, as he rinsed out the last of the conditioner. “Though Hill did not ask after one of the more obvious legends.”

“What? Not the one with the horse, right?”

Loki poked his head around the glass wall. “Hand me a towel if you’re going to loiter, Stark. And yes, I though that was one of the more obvious ones. Though it seemed she didn’t know about my arranged marriage to Sigyn in my youth. I should very much like to see what Midgardian sources have preserved in their writings about Asgard.”

Tony handed him a clean towel, one of the larger white ones that covered the taller man like a cape or blanket when wrapped around his shoulders.

“You were in an arranged marriage? Really? That I can understand, I suppose, you’re centuries old and Asgard’s kinda like if feudal England had survived the industrial resolution,” Tony mused. “But back up a second. Back to the horse.  You didn’t _actually_ have sex with a horse and later birth an eight-leg horse-baby that the All-Daddy now rides around on Asgard,” Tony chucked. “Right?”

Loki pursed his lips as he wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped inside the closet. He twisted his wet hair into a loose bun, and fished around in his drawer for clean undergarments, pulling on a dark blue pair, before he realized Tony had come to stand behind him in the closet and was staring at the god with something akin to panic in his expression.

“Loki,” Tony’s measured voice echoed around the wood paneling of the billionaire’s closet. “Please tell me that’s not the _one_ mythological tale that’s actually true.”

Loki stepped into his trousers, his eyes intent upon the fasteners, before he reached for a long sleeved forest green polo shirt that Tony had procured for him. He finished the outfit with simple black Converse that he toed on, before he sighed and stood to meet Tony’s worried gaze.

“It’s not like I remember it, Stark. I was a horse at the time. The form of the mare I took that day, her memories do not work the same as ours. With my seidr, I’m a gifted shape-shifter, and while I retain some characteristics of my original form, in some shapes the underlying structure of the beast determines the mind’s capacity.”

Tony swore, and Loki reached out to catch the mortal’s arm. “Truly, Tony. I don’t remember it. And without my, ah, ruse that day, Asgard would have been in danger. I did what needed to be done. Please don’t let this ruin our festivities today.”

“Lokes,” Tony drummed his fingers nervously across the reactor, “I get that you want to believe that, and that it was a long time ago, but don’t you see? Don’t you see this— that Asgard has always used—taken what it needed, when it was convenient? How is that _right_? How is that _fair_? What has _Thor_ ever done, how has he ever been sacrificed for the greater good? Has he been married off? Raped by a giant horse?”

Loki shrugged. “It was hardly rape, Tony. Don’t be so dramatic. And Thor has to be king eventually, I suppose. Some would argue that includes its own sacrifices. But I was the second son, surely you must know that’s the reality for the second born in the nobility, even here on Midgard? Odin always said we were both destined to be kings. I just, I never expected it. Never was good enough. But there were ways I could help the kingdom, with my seidr, with my tricks. Ways to help that Thor never could.”

He hadn’t expected Tony’s snarl as the mortal began pacing the length of the room while Loki toweled and combed out his hair. It was strange, Loki thought, Tony’s anger at something that had happened so long ago. Without warning, Tony spun around to face Loki and looked at the taller man with such devastation, that the god couldn’t resist stepping forward and placing a hand on Tony’s arm.

“Whatever it is that now troubles you, I wish it wouldn’t,” Loki muttered.

“Is this why your face lit up like a Christmas tree last night, when I said I’d be on bottom?”

Loki’s face fell. “Not exactly. It was merely that your, ah, willingness caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Uh huh,” Tony scowled. “Why?”

Loki turned to fidget with his bun, twisting the wet hair into the towel.

“Lo-Lo?” Tony asked again.

“It’s not done on Asgard,” Loki responded finally.

“What do you mean, not done? As in no one has sex on Asgard? Or no one has _that_ kind of sex on Asgard?”

“The latter, Stark. Or if they do, they don’t discuss it. It’s not considered proper for a warrior.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” Tony grumbled. “So let me guess. While you’re out doing whatever dirty work Odin needs done that pure, golden boy Thor can’t handle, you had to hide your lovers or they pretended nothing had ever happened? And the rest of the time, you were in some forced marriage with some tart from another realm, while Thor ran around womanizing and acting like the perfect warrior and sticking his dick in whatever took his fancy? Meanwhile, if a warrior sticks his dick in as many holes as possible, it’s totally okay, as long as none of those dicks stick back. How am I doin’ here, Snowflake?”

“You are not wrong,” Loki grimaced, feeling the unfamiliar stirrings of bile in the back of his throat.

“Sir, Colonel Rhodes has arrived,” Jarvis interrupted, and Tony cursed once, reaching for a shirt.

“Help me with this, Lo,” Tony grumbled, and Loki turned to maneuver the t-shirt over Tony’s brace, the range of motion hadn’t recovered sufficiently to allow an ease of rotation. Loki helped to ease the armhole over Tony’s injured arm and tugged on the hem to bunch up the material over Tony’s head. “We’re not done with this conversation though. I mean, if you’re a natural shape-shifter with your hocus-pocus, is the fact that you could get pregnant as a horse magic-based or because of your Jotun physiology? You said that Jotuns didn’t seem to have differentiation in sex or gender like the Aesir, does that mean Jotuns are even limited by the same gender-norm definitions as Asgard?”

Loki tugged on the hem, “Hold still you ridiculous idiot, it’s hard enough getting this on without you squirming.”

“I mean it Lokes, I’m not gonna drop this.” 

“Of course you won’t,” grumbled Loki. “But I don’t know how to answer you. I only learned of my true heritage shortly before I let go of the bi-frost.”

“Tony!” a deep voice shouted from the lounge, followed by the bang of a door slamming open, “Tony, man, you in here?”

“Fuck,” Tony hissed, his shirt caught over the metal frame as Loki struggled to free him. “Be careful!”

“Then stop squirming, you oaf,” Loki growled, and he flinched viciously when the door to the master suite banged open just as the god managed to pull the shirt over Tony’s head. Loki turned as Tony finished pulling the shirt down over his abs, only to find a trim-looking man standing by the door with a Midgardian weapon trained on Loki’s head.

“What the actual fuck, Rhodey. Stop pointing a gun at my boyfriend.”

The man, Loki presumed it was Colonel Rhodes, looked at the ceiling and rolled his eyes, but holstered the weapon. “Have you seen your living room? I thought you ‘d been kidnapped again or something.”

“Kidnapped?” Loki glowered at Stark. “Again?”

“Long story, Snowflake. Later,” Tony clasped Rhodes across the shoulder. “Let’s take our introductions out of the bathroom, yes?”

“And sit where? I’m telling you, man, it looks like a bomb went off in there.”

“Naw, not a bomb. Just Loki,” Tony grinned, wagging his eyebrows as Loki trailed after the pair. “It’s all fine now. And I own the rest of this tower, I’m sure we can find some place else to sit while Dum-E cleans up. Speaking of that,” Tony looked around the living room and Loki came to stand beside the pair, “where’s Dum-E, Jarv? I thought he’d get the glass at least picked up by now.”

Loki winced as his eyes traveled over the damage; glass and debris from the table were scattered over ten feet away across the black tile floors, with visible stains in the couch cushions and throw rug.

“My apologies, Sir. I had intended to request Dum-E’s presence after you and Mr. Lie-Smith departed for the communal floors.”

Tony turned and took Loki’s elbow in hand, steering the god with him and Rhodes towards the elevator. “Loki, meet Rhodey, my oldest friend. Rhodey, meet Loki, my divine, _literally divine_ , space alien boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, Loki,” and as the elevator doors closed behind them, Rhodes extended his hand. Loki hesitated only for a few seconds before he reached out and shook it. “Hurt my idiot friend here, and I’ll kill you.”

“Hey!” Tony protested. “It’s Christmas! I thought we made a ‘no death threats on Christmas’ rule!”

“For you, Tony, there’s always an exception,” Rhodes grinned. “But seriously, man, nice to meet you. Lay off the destruction and invading forces and we’re good.”

Tony barked a laugh. “I’ll do my best, Rhodey, but destruction is a given.”

“I meant him.” Rhodes deadpanned.

“No, you didn’t,” Tony grinned, as he threaded his fingers through Loki’s, “You only pretended you meant him.”

“Okay, you got me. Loki, stop him from destroying things and injuring himself, and we’re good.”

“I try,” Loki sighed. “But I do so like the explosions.”

“Fuck both of you, I’m too old for this shit,” Rhodes said, and Tony’s laughter followed them out into the communal living room.

Except for Rogers banging away in the kitchen, the floor appeared empty, and Rhodes and Tony bustled off to grab breakfast beverages while Loki sank into the couch beside the Avengers’ Christmas tree. Bruce had explained the traditions behind the decor, but Loki was still amazed at the number of colorful packages beneath the tree, of vast sizes and shapes. What a strange concept, the idea of gifting those you cared for with presents to commemorate not the birthday of a dead god, but the spirit of that god’s supposed life as a mortal. 

He fingered an ornament from the tree, a small cradle with a baby in it. It’d been so long, so many years since he’d thought of the boys. Since he’d thought of Sigyn, of Sleipnir.

He’d lied to Tony, of course. He remembered everything, every moment, even if it was gray and fuzzy in places after all these years. Mating with that giant’s horse, Loki shuddered, he could do with forgetting that, but the time after, when he had escaped, still brought a smile to his face. He remembered running through the fields, afterward, with child and unable to return to his Aesir form. He’d felt free, free from his obligations at the palace, of never living up to the expectations of his so-called family and friends, free from everything. Until he’d returned home months later, guiding a foal into the city and muddied with dirt and grime.

It had been centuries until Thor had stopped laughing every time one of his friends made a horse joke or neighed when Loki entered a room.

“Loki, come carry your own tea and donuts! Rhodey won’t let me, he thinks I’m weak!”

“I said injured, you hypocrite!”

“Will the both of you please just get out of my kitchen?” Rogers snapped.

“Hey! It’s my tower!” Tony shouted, and Loki chuckled, imagining the indignant look on his lover’s face.

“Loki, come entertain your boyfriend before he ruins Christmas lunch!” Rhodes’ voice called out, and Loki chuckled to himself, before he stood and turned to find the others, a hopeful grin careworn as he trudged towards the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [UsedUpShiver](http://archiveofourown.org/users/usedupshiver/pseuds/usedupshiver) for letting me bitch and moan about getting the smut to turn out right and acting as my immoral support system for the last two chapters. If you haven't read her series [ Drowning Sorrows](http://archiveofourown.org/series/134526), you are missing out.


	30. Compliments from Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

It was warm, almost too warm, and his eyes wouldn’t quite budge open enough to gather his wits about him, as Loki struggled to wakefulness. Beneath his head, the pillow was of a ribbed fabric, soft but too textured to be the pillows in Tony’s— their bedroom, and there was a strange pressure against his shoulder, as though a bone that didn’t belong there had wedged itself against his own.

The lights were dimmed, but he blinked once before his eyes closed again. He was pleasantly full, almost too full still even though he suspected it had been hours since the feast.

Christmas as celebrated on Midgard was truly a fantastical holiday. Gifting presents to the Avengers, those strange mortals he’d come to share his odd life with, there was an absent, quiet joy in the activity that the god had not expected when he picked out their gifts with Pepper and Natasha’s assistance. But the pure, unadulterated joy on the faces of his frie— of Tony’s friends, when they opened the presents he’d selected, and their obvious pleasure in providing their own selections to Loki, well, the god could be excused if he smiled a bit more than the others had become accustomed.

Even Barton had been surprisingly civil all day, almost polite. As though somehow saving the man’s life had made Loki into a new person for Hawkeye, redeemed him in the eyes of the archer for one momentary second.

It also probably didn’t hurt, either, that only one of Barton’s hearing devices had been returned to full working order, but the constant finger-waiving exercises that he and Natasha engaged in perplexed the god until Tony had told him they were talking with their fingers.

Then, he remembered.

After the truly magnificent feast that Steve had prepared, and after presents and pie, and more pie, Tony had settled everyone around the television late that evening for another essential holiday experience: spiked Mama Rogers’ recipe hot cocoa and a screening of classic Midgardian holiday movies. 

They’d begun with a movie that—to Tony’s amusement—Barton had protested, one with a strangely green creature wearing a Cheshire grin and red fur-lined booties and coat with an elf-like blond child. 

“Stark, that had better not be what I think it is,” Barton had protested then, as the group settled around the room with drinks and pecan pie.

Stark had smirked from his perch on the armrest beside Loki, before he had casually plopped himself down beside the god. “I happen known that the _Grinch Who Stole Christmas_ is a classic, one that neither our resident Capsical nor resident God of Lies have seen.”

“It’s for children,” Barton had complained, and everyone had laughed when Romanova responded, “So what’s your objection, Clint?”

The short film had been odd, but the others seemed to enjoy it. Loki marveled at how quick the town was to accept the creature that had taken their holiday festivities, that had tried to destroy their joy and happiness. But even without the Grinch’s change of heart, the humans portrayed within the film surrendered to joy, and accepted the Grinch into their society.

What a strange concept, humans were. This children’s story, it was nothing like those he’d grown up with on Asgard, filled with war and blood and death and monsters, monsters that could have been the Grinch but for their size and skin color and the ridiculously friendly dog with the antler tied round its neck.

After a round of refreshed drinks, the second movie Barton had also objected to as boring, but he kept silent after both Bruce and Natasha chimed in that it was their favorite of the various holiday classics. Loki had wanted to pay attention to the movie, to whatever it was that could entertain both those two very different Avengers, something that involved snow and coming home for the holidays in an old-fashioned motion picture feel that Rogers had been immediately enthralled with once one of the characters began singing.

But the god had fallen asleep on the couch, warm and sated and all together too comfortable to keep his weary eyes open.

The cocoa had left Loki’s mouth tasting fuzzy. 

He reached with his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, and lifted his head to find Colonel Rhodes awake in the chair across the room, fiddling with his mobile telephone. Their eyes met and the briefest hint of a smile ticked across the Colonel’s face, before the mortal nodded towards Loki’s left.

Loki turned his neck, careful not to dislodge the pressure against his shoulder, to find Tony’s forehead tucked against his shoulder, the mortal’s left arm removed from the metal brace and carefully cradled against a throw pillow in the genius’s lap. Tony had pulled his knees up around the pillow, tucking his sock-covered toes beneath Loki’s thigh. It looked to Loki as though Tony had curled himself up into the smallest space possible, squeezed himself into nothing as his hot breaths hovered against Loki’s shoulder.

The god pressed a quiet kiss against Tony’s hairline before he remembered he was not alone. Loki winced.

“Colonel Rhodes—“ he began.

“Call me Rhodey,” the man said, and Loki dipped his head. “Most everyone’s headed to bed, but I think Pepper and Bruce are both still awake. You two passed out before the movie was even half over. Late night yesterday?”

Loki grimaced, remember the destruction of Tony’s living room when Rhodes had arrived that morning. “Of a sort. I wanted to… I must apologize for earlier, when you arrived and saw the destruction I had caused. I did not mean to frighten you. Or Tony. I was— that is to say, the fault was mine, not Tony’s—”

“Hey man,” Rhodes interrupted, “I don’t need to know. And you should give yourself some credit. I know how Tony is.”

Loki felt the curl of anger ripple across his spine as his shoulders tensed, and the god forced himself to take a quick breath. “Pardon?”

Rhodes looked up, surprised. “Huh?”

“You said you ‘know how Tony is,’ Colonel. Pray tell what you meant. For in this trespass, I assure you Tony did nothing wrong.”

Rhodes signed and slipped the phone into his pocket. “Tony’s like a brother to me, Loki. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. _Nothing_. But he’s as stubborn an ass as they come, and sometimes he’s an idiot. Hell, _most_ of the time he’s an idiot. He says things that he doesn’t explain, that make sense in his brain but not in the rest of the world. With Tony, sometimes you gotta make him explain what his thought process is because he’s already talking about the whole apple pie and you’re still holding a bag of apples. Shit, you’re still picking the apples off the tree, even. Please tell me you know this. _Please_.”

Loki felt betrayed by the slight, involuntary smile that slipped across his features. “I suppose I have noticed this tendency.” 

“Good,” Rhodes exhaled. “Good.”

Tony shifted away, muttering something in his sleep that sounded suspiciously like he was talking to one of his robots, and Loki took the opportunity to ease the genius off his shoulder back into the corner of the couch, extending Stark’s legs over his knees as he was careful not to jar Tony’s shoulder. Tony mumbled again, something that sounded vaguely threatening about City University, before he fell silent again. 

“You’re good for him.”

Loki flinched. “No need for sarcasm, Colonel.”

“Not trying to be funny,” Rhodes looked to the windows, his fingers drumming across the armrest. “Tony used to do this in college. Fall asleep propped up against desks. Random coffee tables. Friends. Once found him leaning against the corner of the dorm hallway, shampoo bottle still tucked under his arm and towel around his waist, fast asleep. Was like his brain would run and run until suddenly he couldn’t stay awake any more, and the batteries ran out. Like the Energizer Bunny on Duracell, man.”

Loki smiled at the thought of young Tony sleeping haphazardly in the hallway, half propped against whatever object or person he’d found conveniently located, as his hands came to rest against Stark’s knees. 

“But that changed,” Rhodes continued quietly, “Do you know how often he’s done this since the Ten Rings got him? Since Afghanistan? It’s been years, man. Years. Last year, with just Pepper and me in Malibu, Tony’d pulled like two all-nighters before Christmas. He was so tired he was hallucinating, thought he saw Santa Clause coming down the chimney and tried to blast him with a repulsor,” Rhodey chuckled to himself, shaking his head from side to side as though he could erase the memory.

“He wouldn’t let himself fall asleep, even when the batteries were empty. Wouldn’t let himself sit down, had so much coffee every day that I swear, I thought Pepper was going stage an intervention. And that was _before_ New York. You know?”

Loki snuck a glance at the sleeping mortal, a fierce weight settling in the pit of his stomach. “I know.”

“And now, well look at him. Do you know when I last saw him fall asleep in a room full of people? A long fucking time ago, that’s when.”

“I did not realize,” Loki scrubbed at his eyes. “Stark is… unique. I am— that is— I owe him much, and it is heartening if—”

“Mr. Lie-Smith,” Jarvis’s electronic voice chimed in quietly, “If I may, I believe the correct human response to a compliment is ‘thank you’.”

Loki sighed. “Thank you. But it cannot be that my presence has benefited Stark.”

Rhodes chuckled. “Alright. You can believe whatever you want. But I’m telling you, I’ve known Tony since he was a scrawny fifteen year old little shit trying to buy beer on a fake ID in Cambridge.”

“If anything, I’ve caused a lot of, ah, discord in his world,” Loki muttered.

Tony twitched in his sleep, and Loki wrapped long fingers around the mortal’s calf, below the knee and just tight enough to grasp the fabric. The genius was boneless with sleep, his shoulders so deep within the cushions that his chin had curled up to rest against his chest, not far from the glow of the reactor. The blue reflected across Tony’s features, making his already striking jawline and nose stand out, and painting the room in a soft, azure glow against the backdrop of the pure white of the Christmas tree lights.

“Loki,” Rhodes said. His voice was firm, unyielding, reminding Loki of the All-Father’s booming commands to his troops before battle. “You didn’t cause his breakup with Pepper, and you didn’t break _him_ in New York. Yes, he’s broken, but you both seem to be putting the pieces back together. He’s different now, in a good way. I mean it, what I said earlier. You’re alright in my book.”

“Maybe.”

Rhodes snorted, standing up. “Yeah, you two deserve each other. I’m out, tell Tony I’ll call him about New Years. Night, Loki.”

“Goodnight, Rhodey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry mea culpa mea culpa. I never meant for it to be this long between updates. I started writing a Frostiron Big Bang piece, and I wrote, and I wrote and wrote and wrote and, well, let's just say that I'm not able to write two different stories at once, at all. Ever. Because once I was sucked in to that world, I couldn't let it go until it was finished. And HtL suffered (and oh how I have missed this story!!!).
> 
> But that piece is done, pending some revisions, and if I do say so myself, if you're a fan of HtL you might *might* just possibly enjoy another 34K written by yours truly at literally breakneck speed involving our two favorite boys. Details later when details are allowed to be provided.
> 
> Ehehehehehehehe!


	31. Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Loki blinked his green eyes open, letting the cool winter light from the windows assuage his senses, until he grunted and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The bed was empty beside him; either Stark had already woken or, more likely, he hadn’t come to bed. Loki brushed his hair aside and rolled to sit on his side of the bed.

“Jarvis,” his voice was rough from sleep. “What’s the time?”

“It is approximately 10:03 AM on Tuesday, December 31st.  You will recall that Ms. Potts and Captain Rogers have arranged for festivities this evening to celebrate New Year’s Eve.”

“Where is Tony?”

“Sir is currently engaged within his workshop, Mr. Lie-Smith. Should I inform him that you are asking after his whereabouts?”

“Thank you but no, Jarvis. Do tell me though, did he sleep?”

“Sir has not slept since the 29th of December.”

Loki exhaled, before he stood. This would not do. “What project is he engaged with, Jarvis? I thought he said that the Miniature HERB Finder was complete.”

“I am not at liberty to say, Mr. Lie-Smith.”

Loki scowled. It wasn’t like Jarvis to hide Tony’s projects, so it must be something Tony didn’t want him to know about.

“Fine,” Loki twirled his toothbrush between long fingers, as the god hunted through his toiletries drawer for a comb, “Is there anything on Tony’s schedule aside from the festivities this evening?” 

“Nothing that Sir has deigned to inform me of.”

He spat the mint-flavored paste from his mouth, before replacing the brush on the counter and twisting his long hair into a low bun.  A quick change into his favored dark jeans and a green and black Henley, and Loki pushed the button to Tony’s private elevator.

“Shall I inform Sir you are heading down to the workshop?”

“It would appear that way, Construct,” Loki huffed, stepping into the lift.

“As always, your wish is my command, Trickster,” Jarvis intoned.

* * *

Loki watched through the glass as the genius fluttered about the workshop, all energy and raw and painfully bright-eyed despite the weary droop to Tony’s shoulders that Loki recognized all too well. The workshop’s lights were excruciatingly bright, and a collection of coffee mugs littered the surfaces of the room. At quick glance Loki counted almost ten unwashed mugs, and from the looks of it, Butterfingers had been banned from collecting the used mugs after one had been dropped and swept in a small pile off to the side.

Beside Stark, several parts and pieces that Loki recognized as various components of the man’s iron suit littered the workbench, as though Tony had begun to work on several at once and couldn’t finish any of the segments before he’d moved on to the next. As Loki watched, Tony’s fingers flinched during a delicate welding and the mortal dropped the torch, cursing as he stuck his index finger between his lips. Finally, as though he were a puppet on a string, Tony jerked backwards as he noticed Loki standing by the door. A hand went to the reactor as the inventor gave a panicked, wide eyes glance about the workshop at the various pieces and parts, before the mortal hurried over.

“Jarvis, would you be so kind as to open the door?” Loki grimaced.

The glass slid open and Tony popped his head around the frame.

“Hey Lokes, what are you doing down here? I thought you went to bed. Aren’t you tired? You should be sleeping. I thought you mphhf!—“ Loki placed his palm across Tony’s mouth, silencing the mortal, and he watched as the smaller man’s brown eyes grew impossibly wide.

“Tony,” Loki began, “It’s already morning. I _have_ slept. You promised you would sleep. Yes?”

Tony nodded, looking like he wanted to say more around Loki’s hand. The mortal’s lips moved, and a warm, wet presence flicked against Loki’s palm. The god sighed as the mortal’s eyes crinkled with mirth. “That’s disgusting, Stark.”

Tony licked his hand again, and Loki pulled his arm away as the billionaire giggled, before the smaller man turned to go back to his workshop. “I promise I’ll sleep soon, just let me—" 

The glass doors slid close inches from Stark’s nose, and Loki grinned. 

“Jarvis, you fucking traitor,” Stark snarled.

“My apologies Sir, but I am only enforcing your own safety protocols. It has now been approximately forty-eight hours and two minutes since you last rested. Per your instructions, the doors will not, except in case of emergency, for the next eight hours.”

Tony looked sheepishly up at Loki. “I guess I’ll rest now?”

Loki said nothing as he put an arm around the mortal’s shoulders and marched him towards the lift.

“But honestly I’m not tired, I’ll just watch a movie or something. Just relax for a bit until—“ Tony squeaked in surprise as Loki pulled him out of the elevator, and nimble fingers reached for the buttons on Stark’s shirt, and as the god dragged Stark towards the bedroom, Stark protested, “Whoa, hey, I like where this is going but to be fair I actually haven’t slept in a while and coffee is a terrible aphrodisiac. Which isn’t to say I’m not interested, just that, ah, sometimes things don’t actually, ah, do what they’re supposed to do when—“

Loki covered his mouth again, this time with one finger instead of his palm.

“Whatever it is that you think I am interested in at this moment, Stark, I assure you, I am not,” the god huffed.

“Rude,” Tony muttered.

“You haven’t showered in days, your breath even from this distance reeks of stale coffee and takeaway and something worse, much worse, beneath that, and this shirt is covered in so much grease that I’m fairly certain you could repackage it and sell it as parts supply.”

“Wait, did you just make an Earth funny?” Tony sidestepped, and Loki shoved Stark backwards onto the bed, smirking at the surprised yelp Tony uttered as his head hit the pillows. Loki reached down to untie Tony’s shoelaces, and with quick, efficient movements he pulled off Tony’s shoes, socks, and grease-covered trousers, setting the dirtied clothes aside.

Stark’s eyes had fallen closed, his legs dangled from the bed and the metal shoulder brace’s blue light flashed to show its power level was almost diminished.

Loki sighed. With careful fingers he removed the brace and placed it on the charging mat, before he lifted Tony’s legs into the bed and pulled up the covers around the mortal’s sleeping form. 

“Idiot,” he whispered fondly.

* * *

 

Tony found him hours later, curled up with a book in their sitting area with the news playing across the screen behind him. The glass and stains from Loki’s tantrum a week ago had all been removed, but the frame sat empty, waiting to be filled with a new specially ordered glass insert, a simple metal shell, useless and out of place.

The genius placed a careful kiss along Loki’s brow as he leaned over the couch, and the god turned as Tony plopped down beside him on the sofa. Stark had showered, his hair was still damp and his goatee was freshly trimmed. He’d managed to get jeans over his hips but he carried with him a black t-shirt and his recharged brace.

Without a word, Loki took the brace and eased it over Tony’s shoulder, before he pulled the shirt over the mortal’s head and carefully helped the shorter man extend his arm into the sleeves.

“Thanks,” Tony said, but Loki didn’t think he meant just the shirt. “Pepper’s thing starts soon, we should go down.”

“We have already told her we would attend, have we not?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony settled back into the cushion, his leg bumping into Loki’s. “Sorry I slept all day. What are you watching?”

“Haven’t a clue. Earlier it was a biography of the great Tony Stark, but they kept asking whether you were ‘happy’ now, and I ceased to pay attention,” Loki closed his book, nimble fingers marking the page, “Tell me something, Stark. What was so important for you to work on, that you wouldn’t come to bed?”

“Hmm?” Tony looked up, “You know me, Lokes, just got distracted. Lost track of time.”

“Liar. Jarvis has been instructed not to inform me about whatever your little project includes.”

Tony blinked, and for the barest second Loki thought the genius would confess, would acknowledge his lie, would trust Loki with his secret. But the moment was gone, and Tony’s familiar mask fell into place. “Cheer up, Buttercup. You’ll get a chance to test the Herbie soon enough, you’re gonna have to wear it around the city to check the signal next week!”

Loki looked away. It was raw and new, this feeling. And it hurt, just as much as it felt so right, so comfortable, but it ached because it wouldn’t last. Tony was lying to him, of that he was certain. And the smallest voice whispered deep inside, if he would lie about what project had captured his attention, what else would the inventor hide?

“Sirs, I must remind you that Captain Rogers’ and Miss Potts’ arrangements for the evening festivities will begin shortly. Specifically, Miss Potts ask that I remind Sir that grease is not an appropriate accouterment to ringing in a New Year.”

“Ha fucking ha. Everyone’s a comedian today,” Tony grumbled, “Tell her I’m already dressed. Sans grease. You ready Lo-Lo?”

“If I must,” Loki stood, following Stark to the elevator. “I still do not understand the point of this Midgardian tradition. Does one celebrate the new year on every anniversary of the previous year?”

“Yup. Every year. Guess it’s sorta more important to celebrate a new year when humans only get so many of them,” Tony mumbled, locking his fingers in Loki’s and the god looked down at their joined hands. Stark’s fingers were darker against Loki’s own pale skin, remnants of grease stains and calluses across his palm and under the mortal’s trimmed fingernails.

The doors opened, and Loki’s step almost faltered as Stark tugged him from the elevator. The communal floor had been transformed for the festivities—gone was the towering Christmas tree and holiday accouterments, and across the room a table with a prepared hot and cold feast sat waiting under glass covers. Even the room’s lighting had been transformed, with a soft yellow hue over the room that let the city shine through the windows outside, bright and sparkling in the early evening light. Outside, the patio deck had lights strung around the glass panels and torches lit along the pathway to a gathering of lawn chairs covered with blankets and heating lamps scattered throughout, with a sunken fire-pit at the center of the gathering.

“Hello? Anyone up here?” Tony called out, only to hear the faintest laugh and a pop of a Champaign cork from the kitchen. “Rude, they didn’t even wait for us to get started.”

“Tony!” Rhodes’ voice called from the kitchens, and Tony pulled Loki after him. “We didn’t expect you to actually show up on time. The others will be here shortly. Come have a drink.”

“Of course I showed up! You had Jarvis harass me!” Tony said, quick fingers stealing the glass that Rhodey had just poured for himself. Tony presented the flute with a flourish to Loki, and the god rolled his eyes but accepted the drink.

“Yeah, we did. Because we remember Malibu last year. It’s not _my_ fault you’re emotionally crippled,” Rhodes retorted.

“Ouch!” Tony feigned injury to his reactor. “That hurts. I thought we were friends. Brothers, even. You’re supposed to be on my side. Tell him to be nice, Lo.”

“He is on your side,” a softer voice chimed in from the doorway before Pepper strolled into view, carrying her own flute and a plate of small, pink looking sea crustaceans that she handed to Loki when she noticed his curious gaze, “Which usually means he does what’s best for you, rather than what _you_ think is best for you.”

“What is this? You brought my boyfriend cocktail shrimp but didn’t bring me anything? What the actual fuck?” Tony grumbled, crossing his arms like a disgruntled child. “I told you she likes you better, Lo.”

“You’ve had them before!” Pepper protested.

“Well I’m not having them now!” Tony gestured “And I’m still an invalid, can’t very well carry my own drink and be expected to fetch a plate, can I?”

“You had no trouble opening presents with both hands last week,” Rhodes chuckled.

“Ingrates, both of you,” Stark retorted, stealing a shrimp from Loki’s plate. The god let out an exasperated sigh, and handed the plate to Stark. The mortal beamed at him, and Loki felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders, that such a simple action could be rewarded thus so.

“Hello? Guys?” Roger’s voice called out from the main room.

“Oh good, the entertainment’s here,” Rhodes muttered.

Festivities for celebrating a New Year turned out to not be all that entirely different from Christmas, with the exception of gifts. The group feasted on the many bite-sized snacks and foods Potts had catered in, and Natasha insisted that the group sit down early in the evening for a movie, a Russian classic that she had grown up watching on New Years about a man who drank too much the night before his plane flight, and managed to board the wrong flight to the wrong city in Russia, where he let himself in with the key to the wrong apartment.

Near midnight, the group split up with Pepper, Natasha, Steve, and Barton heading outside to light noisemakers and sparklers while Rhodey and Tony went below to check on Stark’s own firework plans, and Loki found himself sitting quietly in the empty living room with Bruce, admiring the lights dancing in the window.

“No noisemakers for you?” Bruce asked.

“Hmm? No.” Loki watched Pepper waiving the lit sparkler in huge circles, leaving patterns of light in her wake as she laughed. Even Natasha seemed lighter, more childish as she twirled around with a red-flamed sparkler, and everyone jumped in surprise as Barton threw a bunch of party crackers at their feet. They looked so relaxed to Loki, so light and airy and free.

“Me neither. Barton and noise crackers, probably not a good way to ring in the New Year without the other guy coming to the party.”

Loki smiled in return. “Tell me Bruce, have you been down to the workshop recently? Do you know what has kept Tony so busy, the last few days?"

“I dunno," Bruce rubbed his eyes, and Loki thought the scientist looked tired, as though the holiday season exhausted him more than normal. "He was working on that backpack, last I heard, but I though you finished it. He asked me to help you guys test it out next week. Come on, looks like Clint’s done with the poppers, we don’t want to miss the show.”

Loki followed Banner onto the patio, where the others had already gathered around the chairs and pulled blankets high across their shoulders, the faint smell of gunpowder from the sparklers still lingering in the air. The air was crisp and cold, with a hint of ice in the air, and a moist wind that stung Loki’s cheeks as he huddled down on the chair Natasha had pointed him towards. He sank into the reclining chair, pulling the blankets around his shoulders and legs. It was quiet except for the wind whipping around the patio and the hushed cackle of the fire pit that Rogers’ continued to fiddle with every few moments, and Loki had only a few moments to look out onto the city before Tony and Rhodes returned.

“It’s ready?” Steve asked, and Tony nodded as he blew on his hands and sat beside Loki on the oversized chair.

Natasha returned with a chilled bottle and a stack of shot glasses, with Barton carrying a plate of pickles. “In Russia, we drink a toast before midnight to the major events from the last year, to say goodbye and let go of the past.”

Loki accepted two shot glasses when Tony refused to take one, and Natasha smirked as she filled each to the brim. “You’ll also need to grab him a pickle too.”

Loki glanced over at Stark to see the mortal’s cheeks flame red, though from embarrassment or cold he couldn’t tell. The god handed Stark one of the filled shot glasses and collected two pickles from the plate that followed.

“You gonna do the toast, Nat?” Barton called out.

The group quieted as Natasha stood by the fire pit, her face and red hair in contrast from the flickering lights from the city behind her. She looked down once and appeared to whisper something before she addressed the group.

“A year ago we were scattered leaves. Some of us had met but didn't know each other,” she nodded to Stark then glanced over at Pepper, “Some, we have always known,” she locked eyes with Barton, and Loki shivered, “and some amongst us gathered tonight… were lost,” she looked first to Rogers then at Loki, “and some too, were found,” and the faintest curl of her lips was answered by Bruce’s own gentle nod. “This year, for better or for worse, has brought us change. Those we knew before, we know better now. Those who were lost, we’ve found them. Those who were hiding, we’ve sought them out. And this year has brought us together, in the strangest of places, among the strangest of friends. To the year that brought us change.”

“Here, here!” called Steve, and Natasha raised her glass. Loki mimicked her motions, tipping the shot into his mouth and chasing the taste with a bite of pickle.

She sat down, and almost before the bottle could make rounds again to refill everyone’s glasses, Barton was on his feet.

“I have a toast too,” he said, and Rogers groaned. “No really, I wanna say something.”

The archer paced around the fire, before he turned and looked at Loki. “You’re an ass, Loki. That was a dick move, with the whole scepter thing and threatening Nat about making me kill her.”

“Clint—“ Natasha protested. 

“No, I get to say this,” Barton waved her off, “Aren’t we supposed to get rid of our debts on New Years? I get to say this.”

“Oh boy, this should be good, “Tony whispered, and Loki leaned back into Tony’s shoulder as the mortal’s arm came protectively around his shoulders.

“I just wanted to say, I don’t like you.”

“Wow, Barton, never would have guessed that!” Tony exclaimed, and Loki thought he heard Rhodes chuckle in the distance.

“Shut up Stark! Like I was saying, I don’t like you. But you saved my life. And so I guess we’re good now.”

Tony barked a vicious-sounding laugh. “Was that supposed to be an apology for harassing him for the last six months? Because if so, you kinda suck at apologies.”

“I accept it,” Loki said suddenly. “I’m sorry too, Barton.”

“For what?” Tony squawked.

“He _used_ me, Stark,” Barton barked. “I—“

“Clint!” Natasha snapped, “Get on with the toast, it’s almost midnight!”

“Fine. Fine. I forgive you, even if you’re still an asshat and a weird little shit. And so’s your boyfriend.”

“Worst. Apology. Ever.” Stark deadpanned, before he threw back his shot and Loki chuckled.

“Alright, enough with the old, in with the new,” Steve chimed in as he looked at his watch, “We have about 30 seconds. Jarvis, would you give us an official countdown starting at 10?”

“Certainly, Captain.” Jarvis’s speakers outdoors were tinny sounding in the wind, and Rogers pulled a tray of Champaign flutes off an end table and passed the glasses down the row of chairs as Jarvis began counting. The others scrambled to prepare, gathering Champaign flutes and turning in their blankets expectantly, and Loki glanced around in confusion.

“Five,” Jarvis said, and Tony took the two flutes from Loki’s hands, placing them on the end table beside their chair.

“Four.”

Tony lifted himself up on one knee to move closer to Loki, turning them to face the city beyond, as he pulled the large red blanket high enough to cover their intertwined legs.

“Three.”

Tony’s arm circled Loki’s waist and pulled the god back against his chest, the mortal’s goatee scratching at Loki’s shoulder. A cold hand reached for Loki’s jaw, turning the god’s lips towards Tony’s, and their eyes met. Tony’s brown danced with mischief in the flicker of the flames, and the faintest hint of a grin rose on the genius’s face.

“Two.”

And Loki grinned back, unable to see or feel anything more, anything besides the look in Tony’s face, the gentle, fierce understanding. And the promise, that whatever the New Year would bring, they would fight for it, together.

“One.”

Tony’s lips met his, and the world around them exploded in bright patterns, great echoing booms ricocheting off the tower windows and enveloping them in reds and blues and greens as the fireworks exploded above. The sky dissolved into color and motion, of light and smoke and the faintest burnt odor that drifted in lazy ash trails across the sky, like the last tendrils of a flame extinguished, that drifts in gentle white trails down towards the Earth. In the distance Loki thought he heard singing, above the roar of a crowd, faint against the backdrop of the booming tendrils igniting around the tower on all sides. The city was awash with warmth and fire and brightness, and Loki closed his eyes to all of it. Only Tony mattered, only his lips upon Loki’s, a gentle, fierce pressure as teeth and tongues and mouths explored the first moments of the new year together.

And for one fleeting moment, everything was right in the world, new and fresh and clean, and redeemed.


	32. Hearing a good song for the first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).
> 
> Errors are mine. Fluff is all Tony's fault.

Loki’s feet hurt.

As if Loki needed any more proof that his true nature was hidden beneath the All-Father’s bands. It was such a novel feeling that the god didn’t know whether to laugh or complain, as he followed Tony through the sea of people in midtown towards the lights of Times Square.

It was Tony’s idea, to use their stroll around the city testing the domed white backpack that Tony had begun to affectionately call ‘Herbie’ as a chance to show Loki the city. Since that morning, Loki had seen the infamous Statute of Liberty, cruised the length of the Hudson, strolled through Central Park, stepped on the keys of the overly large floor instrument at the children’s store Tony insisted on visiting, and observed the city and Stark Tower from eighty-six floors up at the Empire State building.

Tony’s enthusiasm for the city was catching. Everywhere Loki looked, humanity bloomed from hidden corners, a mess of civilization and dirt and despair and hope in equal measures.  

It was staggering, and Loki had trouble at times remembering that less than a year ago he almost destroyed all of this.

“There! That’s the famous tourist snap,” Tony proclaimed, shuffling Loki in front of a giant billboard that flashed images and pictures too quickly for Loki to follow. Above the sign, a green ticker scrolled with indistinguishable numbers and characters. “Right there, Snowflake.”

Loki obliged him, adjusting the heavy pack across his shoulders as he stood in front of the glowing sign and glared at the camera.

“Oh come on Lo-Lo, you have to at least try to smile.”

“I do not _have_ to do anything, Stark,” Loki scowled as Tony’s finger caught the camera’s trigger, and the flash caught the god by surprise. Tony’s hoot of laughter followed as the mortal checked the camera’s image, and Loki wondered if it were too late to turn villain again.

“Alright, grouch. Just a second,” Tony came up beside Loki. He barely recognized the mortal with his ball cap and sunglasses pulled low, bundled up against the cold in a thick black jacket and red scarf.

Tony touched a finger to his ear and whispered, and moments later Loki heard a low whirl from his backpack, as the mechanisms engaged. Tony leaned in close to Loki and used the taller man’s height to hide his cell phone screen as the mortal flipped through several screens.

“Okay, Jarvis got the transmission. No interference. Brucie says we’re good here.”

“Goody,” Loki deadpanned, shifting from foot to foot as the weight of the pack irritated his back. “What infamous destination in this giant ant farm next?”

“Follow me,” Tony grinned suddenly, and Loki caught the motions of his hand to his earpiece again as the mortal stepped quickly into the street. Loki followed, dodging a yellow taxi as he darted after Stark, catching up to the man just as he said, “meet us at 42nd and 7th. Yeah. No. Just beyond the stand, then.”

“Is the outing over?” Loki’s long legs let him easily keep stride with Stark, but the sheer amount of coffee the mortal consumed put Stark at an advantage.

“Not quite, Snowflake,” Tony elbowed him playfully. “Why, you ready to go home already?” 

“You are the one carrying the camera, not this heavy device,” Loki grumbled.

Tony turned the corner and Loki followed; off the main avenue, the street was darker in the late afternoon sun and far enough from the bright lights of Times Square that few tourists wandered this far away. Behind a coffee stand Loki saw the unmistakable figure of Rogers, waiting with a beverage in hand and wrapped in a dark blue coat with a thin woolen cap pulled low over his ears.

“Rogers is joining us?” Loki’s eyebrows shot up. “Are we leaving the city?”

“No, we’re done with Herbie,” Tony guided Loki towards the coffee stand. “Just no one can carry it back but Steve. Thought you would like to be free of it for a few hours.”

“Stark, my feet hurt—“

“I know, isn’t it great!” Tony grinned. “Best city in the world.”

“I’ve walked more in the last five hours than—“

“Hi Steve-O!” Tony interrupted. “Here Lokes, give him Herbie. Not much good it will do while we’re gone, scanning for portal threads if we can’t block ‘em yet.”

“Wonderful,” Loki huffed, ignoring the sympathetic smile Steve shot in his direction as the soldier strapped the white metal-covered pack on his shoulders.

From this angle the pack looked to be a fancy carryall, the way Tony had designed the edges of the device to curve outward at the base and in a small dome-like shape across the top.  When Barton found out that Tony named it Herbie, he’d convinced Stark to paint a red, white, and blue stipe down the length of the metal cover with a stylized number ‘53’ in a white circle in the center. For reasons Loki couldn’t fathom, Stark and Banner had thought the idea was hilarious and immediately set about decorating the device.

“Thanks Cap,” Tony said, his hand coming to rest on Loki’s shoulder; the weight of Tony’s hand felt light, after hours of wearing the miniaturized HERB Finder. “Come on Lokes, before they change their mind.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Be good. Loki, keep him in line.”

“What—“

“No time, Snowflake,” Stark waved dismissively, before setting off again. “We have plans.”

Loki exhaled in frustration but trailed after Stark as the mortal descended metal tipped steps two at a time into an underground walkway. Once inside, Loki scowled and pulled off his sunglasses, surprised to find a vast underground cavern open before him. Stark glanced back before he moved confidentially towards one of the tunnels and Loki followed, careful to keep his distance from the teeming masses pushing around them. 

They came to a silver gate and Stark slipped something in his hand with a meaningful look at the god. Loki imitated Stark’s movements through the gates, then down another set of stairs and across a platform.

He blinked as the platform expanded to show several different underground caverns stretching in both directions, with what must be hundreds of humans strewn about the platforms waiting, some with newspapers or books and others he noticed carrying large parcels or instruments.

“What—“ Loki leaned in closer to Stark’s ear, “what _is_ this place?”

Tony grinned. “It’s the subway, we’re going to ride on a train under the city—“

“Under,” Loki repeated. “I’ve seen that in one of the movies Rogers watched.”

“That’s right. New York’s subway’s famous,” Tony switched out his darker sunglasses for a pair of thick-rimmed clear ones, pulling his scarf up higher. “One of the earlier ones built.” 

“There are so many humans,” Loki mused. 

“We _have_ to get you out of the tower more, Lo,” Stark grinned. “You should see this place when there’s a Yankees game.”

 

* * *

 

The train was crowded, and Tony elbowed the god into a corner by the doors with small handholds to cling to as the transport shot through the tunnels. Loki couldn’t help the smile that rose on his face at Tony’s relaxed expression; the mortal looked at ease here, hidden in plain sight among the masses, one arm tucked under Loki’s to grab the handhold behind the god’s shoulder. Yet, he marveled at how easily Tony moved to cover his features in the crowd, his hat pulled lower over his face and gaze angled away from the other passengers as the train cabin twisted and turned.

Loki scanned the crowd over Tony’s shoulder. Humans of all shapes and sizes and colors had squeezed themselves into seats and aisles, with multicolored packages and bags of every shape on their laps and at their feet. Humans came in so many different colors and shapes and sizes that Loki wondered how the Aesir, with their predominately golden features, had ever walked this realm without mankind noticing. If anything, those he saw around the train looked more like Tony than Captain Rogers, both in height and musculature.

On Midgard, Loki realized with a start, he disappeared within the construct of humanity. His dark hair and startling green eyes surely couldn’t compete with the florescent pink hair of the man half-way down the train, and another mortal’s copious use of leather and hair products made Loki curious what Midgard’s fashion industry would think of his armor under better circumstances.

But it was the easy proximity that most alarmed Loki.

Almost without realizing it, Loki’s hip had collided with the wall behind him and an elbow had gone out to the side to stabilize the god as the train accelerated. And Loki had grazed the form of another, looking over to see the taller man, a good inch or two taller than Loki and just as muscular as Thor, impassive and unconcerned for the insult.

Loki leaned forward to speak in Tony’s ear over the din of the train’s wheels. “Where precisely is our destination?”

Tony’s lips curled into a wide grin. “You’ll see.”

After another three stops, Stark made to turn towards the door, and Loki made an impatient sound as the train ground to a halt. It was harder here to keep up with Stark at their destination, pushed and pulled by those surrounding him, and Loki grimaced as someone shoved him from behind before Tony pulled him towards another staircase.

Once outside, Loki first noticed how dull this part of the city appeared. The storefronts appeared worn and tired, colors muted in the fading daylight, and Loki stepped around a pile of black trash bags as he trailed after Tony. The smells were different than the streets near the tower—more earthy and rich—and several times Loki felt like gagging as the pair passed an exhaust fan. The signs were in a Midgardian language Loki did not recognize, with smaller symbols and lines more reminiscent of ancient runic texts from Asgard than the alphabet he’d come to know as the western equivalent while residing in the tower.

After a few quick turns, Loki was not impressed.

The awning red in simple red letters on a white background “Fu Zhou Cuisine” but the building looked derelict to Loki’s untrained eyes. White banners and painted lines littered the outside, and the windows were dingy and darkened with decades of dirt.

Loki grimaced as Stark urged him forward. A man exited with a white take-out container, and the god was certain he smelled worse than Loki had after not showering for a year.

“Stark,” Loki protested as the mortal managed to grab the door handle in the material of his sweatshirt. “Surely we are not _eating_ anything inside this establishment?”

Tony laughed and pushed Loki forward.

The décor was not entirely reassuring, with yellow walls and dim florescent lighting around a smattering of worn metal chairs and wooden tables fit for dwarves, but Loki was heartened to see half a dozen tables filled with patrons eating from steaming plates filled with noodles and small, pastry-like crescent rolls.

A hand on his lower back guided the god forward to a counter, where a woman waited with impatient fingers drumming on a white notepad. 

Tony rattled off an order in a language that the god didn’t recognize and Loki smirked as he watched the woman grin and respond to Tony, her effusive gestures making apparent her own surprise that the genius spoke her native tongue. Stark then handed over a few bills to the woman, before reaching into a glass cabinet to remove two plastic water containers.

They managed to squeeze into two raised seats in the corner of the narrow bar that ran the length of the windows, and Loki amused himself with watching the cars and humans passing by, along with the occasional bicycle, while Tony collected their plates. During their walk, the sky had clouded over, and the first fat drops fell in a steady beat before the rain became a cacophony against the car roofs.

Tony returned moments later with a red plastic tray ladled with white Styrofoam dishes. “Prepare to be amazed, Lokes,” Tony grinned as he arranged the various plates. “Remember how to use chopsticks? They don’t have anything else here.”

“I remember, Stark,” Loki pulled the sticks apart and rubbed the edges. “Are you sure this is edible? It looks like bilgesnipe droppings.”

“Dunno what that is, but if you insult my favorite hole in the wall, we’re going to have words,” Stark scolded, before he took a big bite of noodles and moaned in satisfaction, smacking his lips. “Try it. Have I ever lead you wrong, Lo?”

“I was under the impression you were a billionaire and that meant something in this realm,” Loki said, picking up one of the crescent-shaped rolls with a bit of green onion attached. It was almost translucently thin, and Loki could smell the meat inside. He bit into the dumpling carefully.

Warmth flooded his mouth, and Loki’s eyebrows rose in surprise. The flavor was not what he expected; it was salty and light, but rich across his tongue, and he took another bite. He’d managed to finish off two more dumplings before he looked up to find Stark watching him, a knowing look in the mortal’s eyes. 

“I confess, it is not what I expected,” Loki admitted.

“Not bad, eh? Try the noodles next,” Stark smiled. “There’s a saying on Earth; don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“I suppose there is a deeper meaning to that phrase than your cuisine choice, isn’t there,” Loki sighed, affecting a put upon manner.

“It’s a hard lesson, but someone’s gotta teach it,” Stark crowed, stealing one of the remaining dumplings from Loki’s plate. “Don’t suppose ‘try Fujian street food’ is on your list?”

“I suppose I could substitute ‘hearing a good song for the first time’ with ‘trying a new Midgardian delicacy’,” Loki reasoned.

Tony laughed, his face lit up by the streetlight outside. Rivets of water ran down the window, washing away the dirt and grime of the city as they ate, and as the morsels settled in his stomach Loki was almost too comfortable with his feet propped up on the ledge and Tony beside him.

 

* * *

 

The winter air chilled Loki through his parka, and Stark shivered as he pulled his hat lower across his forehead.

“Walk back?” Tony grinned, wagging his eyebrows. “We can get a cab if it starts raining again, further up.”

Loki inclined his head in agreement.

In truth, eating had rejuvenated the god and his aching feet were dull in comparison to the beauty of the city after the rain. The street surfaces shown bright with droplets of water and light in the uneven colors from passing cars, washing away the unclean smells of the city, and as Tony navigated the streets each block held different sights to behold. Mortals with umbrellas drawn high against the occasional drip-drip-drip from the buildings and trees scooted around the pair.

Stark turned again and the street widened—enough for cars to pass in both directions. The taillights accented the rain-soaked streets, painting long streaks across the pavement.

“Sir, I am terribly sorry to interrupt your evening, but I have an urgent call from Director Fury,” a voice sounded.

Tony fished his phone out and pulled Loki down a side street. “Urgent how, Jarvis? What did he threaten to force you to override protocols?”

“It was within your established parameters for me to permit his intrusion, Sir,”

“Damn,” Tony cursed, and Loki looked up to see the Tony’s face lit by the blue light of the mobile’s screen. “Put him through then.”

The screen darkened, and Loki leaned on the wall beside Tony careful to stay out of view. From this angle he could just make out Director Fury’s features.

“Stark! You son of a bitch, you fix this right now!” Fury hissed.

“Good evening, Director,” Stark flashed a grin. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me out in the city, a bit flat-footed here, if you will.”

“You know _precisely_ what I’m talking about,” Fury growled, and the screen shifted, showing the barest outline of what appeared to be a car plastered in brightly-colored squares. “They are _glued_ on, Stark. Over every surface of my car. And they were _laminated_.”

Stark’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Ah. Wow, Fury. I mean, I know you have some political enemies, but the old post-it notes prank? That seems almost personal. Takes a lot of work,” Tony scratched his nose, his fingers hiding a quick grin before he smothered it. “Actually rather fitting, you know. You _are_ a bureaucratic blowhole. Can’t think of a better use of post-it notes.”

“Stark, you owe me a new car,” Fury growled.

“Gee, that’s hilarious, Director. You know what, I’ll make you a deal,” Stark snarled, meaning business. “From now on, you don’t fuck up my stuff, and I won’t fuck up yours. Sound good?”

Stark ended the call with an angry huff before Fury could respond and pocketed the phone. He turned towards the street, but Loki caught his arm.

“What happened to Fury’s car?” the god demanded.

“I couldn’t figure out how to send him a gift basket with dog shit on such short notice.  With it being a holiday, and all,” Tony grinned, a feral expression that Loki had only seen a handful of times and most often when Fury was involved. “But there are plenty of college kids in this city willing to do _anything_ for an internship at Stark Industries.”

“You paid Midgardian teenagers to prank Fury,” Loki deadpanned.

“Not exactly,” the grin turned sharp again. “Guess he hasn’t opened the doors yet, with all that superglue. I managed to put the dog shit in the door panels _myself_.”

“Why?” Loki asked, exasperated.

Tony shrugged. “He shouldn’t have fucked with you like that. It’s none of his business,” Tony’s fingers drummed on his reactor, and the shorter man looked up. “Wait, you’re not mad about this, are you? Is this okay? Shit. This isn’t okay. I fucked up. You look upset, Lo.”

Loki covered Tony’s lips with two fingers, and Stark’s expression fell.  “Not angry,” he muttered, resting his forehead on the brim of Tony’ hat.

The god swallowed, shivering as the first icy drop landed on his face and trailed down his cheek. Another drop followed, this time it was hot and salty, and then the skies opened up again. The rain grew to a light patter in the alleyway against Loki’s shoulders, small droplets forming on Tony’s hat, and Loki swiped the drops away from Stark’s cheeks.

“It’s the most considerate thing anyone has done for me in years,” Loki whispered, dropping his hand from Stark’s lips, but his fingers hovered against the mortal’s jawline. “Possibly ever. Standing up for me.”

“Well, yeah—“

Loki pinned Stark’s shoulders against the building, and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My contribution to the Frostiron Bang goes live on Saturday! (Ack!)
> 
> (More HTL next week, after.)


	33. Photo Booth Pictures with Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Included with this chapter is the lovely, lovely, lovely art from [Horns-of-Mischief](http://horns-of-mischief.tumblr.com) available [here](http://horns-of-mischief.tumblr.com/post/102693876923/no-boas-the-trickster-smirked-just-us-liars) on her tumblr. Gorgeous art is gorgeous! The eyes!!!! 
> 
> You should also go read her stories [here on A03](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/pseuds/Horns%20of%20Mischief) as well, since she's one of the reasons I probably ended up writing FrostIron in the first place. Awesome people are awesome.

Natasha drove the little black Midgardian vehicle as though she had Dark Elves behind her; fast and evasive with quick, sharp movements so vicious at times that, at one point, just before departing the city, Loki turned to glance around for the threat. Content to see no Elves chasing them or blue-black portals in the sky, Loki had settled into the ride with a little less apprehension.

Tony had given her the car from his collection that morning; told her to take whichever one she wanted for their excursion, that she could keep it after, the mortal said. Romanova hadn’t hesitated, selecting the sleek black one with a narrow, almost beaked front and red markings.

Tony hadn’t even flinched, dropping the keys into her outstretched palm. He kissed Loki on the cheek and wished them a pleasant journey, and said he’d phone when HERBIE went out of range. Somewhere in New Jersey, Stark had said, wherever that may be. But this time he had to go with Romanova to test HERBIE’s transmission range, while Tony stayed behind to relay results to Foster in London.

The car suited Natasha, Loki thought.

Like the electric bracelets she wore around her wrists, made of spiked metal and lightning, that she and Stark had tested last week in the lab.

But now, cruising down the highway with a gray sky stretched across the afternoon horizon and the city in the back window, Loki let his head fall back against the seat. His hair fell in wavy patters across his eyes, blocking out what little winter sun filtered through the clouds, and he pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his wrists.

It was almost peaceful, cruising down a Midgardian highway with trucks and cars on either side, and for a moment Loki wished he could pretend that she was actually his friend, too.

He winced, hoping against the odds that Romanova wouldn’t notice. Such an ungrateful thought.

The music quieted. _Damn_ , Loki sighed. She was much too observant.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Natasha asked, her voice lilting upward in a pleased sounds. “New Jersey isn’t exactly a scenic drive.”

Loki looked out the window. A forest of metal devices stood long and tall against the horizon with colorful blocks scattered at their base in stacks four or five high beside harbor. In the distance he saw more containers floating down the Hudson.

“It’s different than the city,” Loki mused. “I don’t understand the purpose for—” Loki waved a hand at the view, “—all of this seems rather, well, pointless. Trade on Asgard is different.”

A short chuckle followed, and Loki turned to look at Natasha. Her hair was down, the style softer than the god remembered from his early months in the tower; back then Romanova resembled a coiled spring, electric and red hair wrapped tightly away, her face a calm, collected mask. She wasn’t Tony’s friend, then, not when she had first moved in with the other Avengers when Loki arrived.

And Loki was ashamed to remember himself then, a mess of limbs and tangles sitting against the window until Tony had forced him to, finally, exhale and live again.

The god fingered his mobile phone, a StarkPhone that Tony had pushed into his hands that morning. The cover was green and gold, and Tony had grinned like an idiot when he handed it to Loki over breakfast. It vibrated once, and Loki flipped the screen on, fingers grazing over the messages. “Tony says we’re still in range,” Loki read the message, before etching out a short reply. “We should keep going.”

Romanova seemed to nod, but in time with the music, and Loki absently flipped through a few different features on the device. It was just like his tablet, with similar applications on a smaller scale, but this one was connected to Jarvis. And Tony, of course, but while still on house arrest Loki couldn’t see why he needed his own mobile communications device.

After their impromptu date night was interrupted by Fury’s phone call, the drenching rain that followed had ruined Stark’s own phone and subsequently the trace between Jarvis and Stark’s phone and, as part of Loki’s parole terms, to SHIELD. The next day, SHIELD had revised the terms of Loki’s parole, ordering that Loki couldn’t be out alone out in the city with only Stark to supervise the god. The genius had spent two days remaking StarkPhones to be completely impervious to the elements, muttering angrily as he worked.

Personally, Loki thought that, as far as retaliations went, Fury’s response was rather mild. Perhaps even a testament to how much SHIELD needed to keep Tony in its good graces, even. It felt to the god like he was waiting, holding his breath for whatever came next.

Romanova swerved suddenly, and barked a curse at the car in front of them.  The word sounded guttural to Loki’s ears, something older than English, and the sounds reminded him of All-Speak.

Loki tutted, watching the cars pass by as Romanova accelerated past the van that had cut her off, then cruised around another slow-moving transport. “Careful,” he teased.  “You wouldn’t want to destroy Stark’s gift on the first day.”

“Ha, ha,” she responded without heat. “You try driving in the tri-state area, trickster.”

“No thank you, little spider,” Loki returned his phone to the pocket of his hoodie. “That’s what you _Avengers_ are for.”

“You would have been a terrible supreme leader,” she mused. “Can’t even drive. Most of humanity would laugh.”

Loki let his lips curl into the faintest of smirks. “Yes,” he mused. “Terrible. Sort of the point.”

“Next time, there are less destructive ways to hire a chauffeur,” she muttered, and Loki smothered his grin.

The music changed. Romanova’s selections were as eclectic as the Widow’s knowledge, it seemed, switching from the hard metal rock that Stark preferred to a more instrumental, vocal ballads and everywhere in between. He found himself tapping his foot in time with the beat.

After a few moments, Loki’s phone vibrated again. “The range is decreasing,” he squinted at the message. “Stark wants you to stop at Willowbrook up ahead.”

“Tell him we’ll be there in fifteen,” Natasha turned to look over her shoulder before swerving in sharp movements across two lanes of traffic, a yellow sign looming above the road. “That should give him enough time to set up the transmission to London.”

Loki’s fingers moved in careful, controlled jots to spell out the message as Romanova maneuvered the vehicle into a quick turn around a sharp bend suspended high above the ground. The god glanced up from the screen, surprised to realize how high the bridge rose on pillars of concrete and metal alone. In the distance he saw other concrete platforms overlapping like the tangled strands of Frigga’s weavings, with cars darting like needles and threading in and out.

“Well?” Romanova finally asked, as the car turned into another set of spiraling passageways, and Loki saw the first sign reading _Willowbrook_ ahead. “Did you like anything?”

“Pardon?” Loki tucked a section of long hair behind his ear. Stark said he looked like a dead rock star with his hair down and no hair products or ties to train the frizz; but, it would keep him from being recognized while out with Natasha.

“The music,” Romanova gave what almost appeared to be a genuine smile. “Jarvis said you cheated on the last step.”

“You take a keen interest in my continued survival, little spider.” Loki grinned, showing teeth as his eyes narrowed. “Do you also ensure Ms. Potts doesn’t wear too high of heels, when walking in the city?”

Natasha gave a hesitant laugh. “We’re your friends too, you know.”

Loki hummed, an absent sound.

The streets gave way to a sea of cars and pavement stretching across the horizon, and Romanova weaved her way through a row, a squat-looking white building off in the horizon. With easy movements she turned into a space with short wall protecting one side of the vehicle.

“Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Loki released the clasp to his seatbelt. “Inside _that_ building? There are thousands of humans here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re agoraphobic now?”

Loki made a choked noise. “Hardly.” He closed the car door with more force than strictly necessary. “I just don’t see the point in leaving the vehicle. Stark’s tests shouldn’t require that much time.”

Loki trailed after Romanova through the cars, following the spy’s efficient movements as she dodged nimbly between mirrors and raised curbs towards the far entrance.  It was cold, bitterly so against his Aesir form, but Romanov had donned no more a thin sweatshirt over her usual active wear for the outing. Her red hair against the white sweatshirt stood out in vibrant contrast to the gray horizon and monotonous color of the building ahead.

Loki pulled up his hoodie as a group of teenaged mortals turned towards the pair, angling his face away as he’d seen Stark do on the subway the week before.

“Relax,” Natasha said, suddenly beside him. She linked her arm through his. “No one’s looking for you, and you look very native in that outfit anyway. Someone with better taste than Stark must have selected it.”

“ _You_ selected this one, if I recall,” Loki let his amusement show. “It’s the only item you and Pepper agreed on that day.”

“See, good taste. I knew it.”

Inside, the building was surprisingly plain and similar, with long walkways filed by glass storefronts, and piles of goods and trinkets beyond the god’s comprehension. It reminded him a bit of the markets on Asgard, but surprisingly brighter than the golden realm with its clean, modern lines.

The stores themselves varied little in Loki’s observation. Some had decorated their archways with names and slogans and artificial palm trees, whereas others retained a gray façade with the barest of color and images.

After a few moments, Romanova stopped and gestured him forward. It was one of the more gaudy selections in the shopping markets; the outside of the store windows glittered with fake sparkling lights, as though a Midgardian had vomited colors and stardust across the surface. The effect was surreally like watching a rainbow implode before a photograph could be taken, and the internal walls beyond the archway were even brighter, with vibrant whites and pinks accenting the room. It smelled of perfume and strawberries, like the scents of thousands of Midgardians gathered for that masquerade ball Loki went to.

“Here?” Loki scoffed. “What could we possibly need to purchase here?”

“I called ahead,” the spy nudged him forward. Loki gritted his teeth. “They have a photo booth in the back corner.”

“A photo booth— _oh!_ You and Stark _planned_ this?” Loki turned sharply, incredulous. “This! This is why I had to go with you?”

Natasha shrugged, moving between the store displays and humans. The movement was graceful, like a dancer, and for a moment Loki wondered if she had ever been referred to as the black cat, before she’d murdered so many.  

Loki passed several formal white backgrounds with humans in various odd costumes and outfits posing before flashing lights, to find a large black object in the back corner, taller than Loki and half the width of a car with a red curtain and checker-patterned flooring peeking out beneath the curtain.

“Voila! Photo booth.” Natasha pointed to the black object. She reached inside the plastic bins, propped up on a table running the length of the wall beside the booth.  “And no photo booth is complete without true stage props.” 

Loki scowled, peering at the objects. “I can’t decide whether I’m impressed or annoyed.”

“Impressed, obviously,” Romanova picked up something pink with what looked like feathers and strung it around Loki’s neck. “Their props bin has pink boas and pirate hats, it’s very high class.”

“Oh by all means,” Loki rolled his eyes, gritting his teeth as Romanova fitted a large black hat over his long hair. “I changed my mind. It’s clear that Earth suffers from leadership if this is considered an acceptable pastime for mortals here.”

“Shut up and get inside,” Natasha pointed at the red curtain, her red hair poking out from underneath a blue plastic hat covered with shiny baubles and the most obnoxiously large green sunglasses had ever seen, even including Tony’s collection.

“Yes, little spider,” Loki deadpanned.

Once the curtain closed behind them, Romanova made him sit on the bench beside her, imitating various poses and expressions that she claimed were traditional for Midgardian photo booths before she pushed the button to trigger the cameras.  In the first snapshot, they pretended to shout at the camera screen while pointing at each other’s hats.

A moment later she told him to put two fingers up above her hat in something she called _bunny ears_ , and Loki watched the reflective panel before him with perplexed curiosity as Romanova cocked her head sideways and stuck out her tongue as well.

The third photo involved Loki affecting a bored mien, arms crossed and looking away from the camera, as Natasha making fake kissing noises at his side after she’d stolen the pink boa.

It was all the trickster could do not to laugh at the absurdity. 

Finally, Romanova removed her hat and glasses and knocked the pirate hat from Loki’s head. “Let’s make this last one boring,” she said, throwing the props outside the red curtain. “Just smile at the camera.”

“No boas?” the trickster smirked.

“Just us liars in this one,” Natasha confirmed.

* * *

 

A few days later, Loki stopped by the communal kitchen to grab a drink before movie night, when he saw it.

There, on the refrigerator. Below the photograph of the Avengers standing before the Midgardian-styled Christmas tree, and between pictures of Steve and Natasha at a gala from September and the image of Romanova, Barton, and Bruce from the camping trip. Pinned in place between the Avengers “ _A_ ” logo magnet on one side and an _Iron Man_ helmet that Loki thought Barton had found in one of the Midgardian cereal boxes on the other, was a larger version of the last of the four photographs of himself and Natasha.

He hadn’t realized at the time how close Romanova had stood to him, the faintest hint of an easy grin evident on her face. As though there was nothing unusual about taking pictures in a Midgardian shopping mall somewhere in New Jersey, with a (mostly) reformed former Norse god turned alien invasion leader at her side.

And here it was, casually tacked up against the refrigerator between magnets like it belonged there, amongst the photographs of the Avengers and their friends and family.

Loki smiled, an involuntary thing that gentled his face and smoothed away the sharp angles.

Maybe they weren’t just Tony’s friends, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *checks watch* Damn. I _almost_ got this in on Friday, somewhere in the world. So close. Missed Baker Island's Friday by a little more than two hours. Oh well. I tried. Enjoy.
> 
> If you've been living under a rock (or you know, been busy and have a life unlike some of us?), my FrostIron Bang _Tapestry_ went live on the 1st of November. Go read it! (please?! :D)


	34. Watching new trailers before a movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).

It was the eerily familiar clicking sound that Loki heard first when he returned to the penthouse, sweaty and sore from sparing with Steve and Natasha.

He crouched behind the sofa, dropping his bag to the tile floor. It fell with a quiet thud, and Loki palmed his throwing knives from the bag before kicking it away. The twin weights were firm, cold pressures against his fingers.

The god leaned forward around the armrest. Inhaled. It smelled of Tony and Loki, and motor oil and cleaning products and something acidic that burned the back of his throat, like someone had worn too strong of cologne.

The sound rang out again, and Loki’s lungs constricted, heart racing. He felt lightheaded, dizzy almost; like a prune left in the midday sun on Muspelheimr. He edged himself forward on light-footed steps, cautiously, towards the windows of the penthouse. From this angle, the sky was darker than it should be—no, it was late afternoon, it was already late— _was_ it dark on Midgard yet? It couldn’t be, it was too soon, too soon—Loki stumbled to his knees, a hand going to his chest. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t—he could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

“Nggh,” Loki managed, his throat suddenly dry. He scrambled to the windows, pressing his face against the glass. Outside, the skies were clear, no sign of blue and black against the horizon.

“Mr. Lie-Smith,” Jarvis’s quiet voice alerted him. “Sir was not expecting your return so soon.”

The clicking, sliding noises started again, quieter than Loki remembered the Chitauri warships sounding, followed by vibrations and a clattering sound worse than any explosion Tony had ever managed in his lab. Then the shouting followed, an animalistic roar, and a man that might have been Steve if Loki didn’t know better, didn’t know that the soldier was still in the gym—the _not-Steve_ ordered Iron Man to take out that nuke, _or else_.

His stomach lurched.

“Mr. Lie-Smith—“ Jarvis’s tone sounded urgent. Loki’s heart raced in a painful thump against his chest, fear blossoming and swelling like a balloon in his throat. He tried to swallow around the knot in his chest, but it was becoming more and more difficult to move. “Mr. Lie-Smith, can you hear me?”

Loki wanted to curse the AI, wanted to demand the construct tell him where Stark had gone. And he would. As soon as his limbs responded, and when he could breath again. _Oh Norns_! Where was Tony? His eyes swiveled in wild patterns, sweeping the perimeter of the room.

The sounds changed again, and he heard a deep voice demanding, “ _Please, tell me you’re going to appeal to my humanity_ —“ Chills wracked his form, a cold sweat across the god’s forehead and spine. His black hair clumped in sticky-sweat patterns across his neck, and Loki pushed away from the windows. The tone was familiar, arrogant, with an edge to the voice, and an accent that vaguely reminded the god of the time he spent in that Midgardian city with Tony where Foster resided. And Tony’s voice followed. Tony, _Tony_! Was alone with whatever creature had—

Then the noises abruptly ended.

Loki blinked to awareness, surprised to find his back pressed firmly to the wall outside the entertainment room, his knees locked and legs barely holding him upright. There was something in his hands, something heavy and sharp. His throwing knives. And one from the kitchen, too. Did he go through the kitchens to get here? He didn’t remember.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about!” Tony shouted, and Loki twitched in sudden fear. “That! That didn’t happen! Well okay, it _did_ happen, but not like that.”

“Mr. Stark—“ another voice echoed from the speakers. Not Jarvis.

It was white on the edges of his vision, and his chest hurt. Loki’s chest burned with each labored breath, fire-bright and painful, and there was the faintest hint of blue on the horizon, blue and ice and cold and he shivered again—Oh Norns, why did it hurt, why couldn’t he—But where were the Chitauri, he heard them, he heard—

“And I told your son of a bitch producer that!” A quick clack-clack-clacking noise told Loki that Stark was pacing the length of the room, but everything felt so distant. He fingered the edge of the kitchen knife. It was sharp, and if he were to just prick his finger, peel away the blue, maybe—if just for a second, to show what was real, wake himself up— 

He heard Jarvis’s voice echoing above him, but Loki couldn’t make out the AI’s words. Then at once the AI was loud again, but Loki’s lungs were working too quickly, and he gasped, out of breath.

“Hush, Jarvis, I’m on a call. And listen, buddy, another thing,” Tony’s voice again, enraged. Hot as iron left to rot in the forge, and the image made Loki’s shoulders relax even as his hands shook so fiercely that he couldn’t manage to prick the tip of his blue index finger against the pointed end. “I _specifically_ told him that I would buy the entire studio and _burn it to the ground_ if the script wasn’t fixed.” 

“I understand, but the test audiences—“

“Fuck the test audiences!” Tony roared. A tinkling crashing noise echoed across the room; Loki was certain it was Tony’s scotch tumbler hurled the wall. “I will _kill_ this movie if you don’t show what _really_ happened! This isn’t just a Hollywood summer blockbuster, there are _real_ people involved! Real people who _deserve_ to have a fair trial in public opinion!”

“Mr. Stark—“

“Fix it,” Tony sighed. “Fix it or can the project.”

Loki’s fingertips remained stubbornly blue, and his palms felt cold, so cold. He dragged in a ragged breath; his throat felt constricted, like Thor had set the hammer on his sternum again, a weight beyond all weights, immobile—

So, they were putting him on trial on Midgard, after all. Was that what Tony was watching, video feed of the battle? What changed, what happened—Tony had believed him, _believed in him_ , why would—

“I am, I _will_ , it’s just that, well, you see, what you want us to show? None of that is in the media records. It’s just that there isn’t any _proof_ that the villain—“

“He is _not_ the villain!”

Loki gasped his relief, his knees finally giving way. He sunk to the ground, cold tile seeping through his sweatpants.

“—Of course not, the antagonist then,” the stranger’s voice continued, placating and patronizingly calm. “But Mr. Stark, there just isn’t any proof that the monster who led the invasion was coerced into—“

“I’m sorry, did you say monster? You’re using _us_ but you don’t want to _listen_ to us?” Tony interrupted. “Did you forget that anything even _slightly_ related to Iron Man is trademarked by yours truly? _Including_ the Avengers? I _own_ this team, asshole, and I will sue your ass if you libel us, _any_ of us. Especially him!”

The god pulled his knees tightly to his chest; his arms shook in vicious movements. His hands were blue, and Loki watched in nauseated horror as the lines emerged, his nails black beneath the Jotun skin, blue-black creeping higher towards his elbows. What did he mean, that he _owned_ them, was Tony selling him out, selling him to—he didn’t know who it was, but they wanted him—they wanted the monster—it was all he was good for, useless—how could he, how could—Humans still didn’t use Challenges as trials for crimes, did they?

“Sir!” Jarvis’s voice interrupted, this time loud and demanding. “You presence is required.”

“Not now Jarvis!” Tony snapped back.

“Sir, it’s a code blue emergency.” 

“Fuck,” Tony muttered. “I’ll call you back, Goldstein. Don’t make me pull the plug on this thing.”

Loki panted, spots floating across his vision. He felt rather than heard the echo of footsteps from the room. Tony’s fingers grazed the god’s cheek.

“Lo,” Tony whispered, amber-brown eyes searching Loki’s. Tony pulled the knives from his grasp, and the god blinked as they clattered to the floor. That wasn’t right, he needed those, he needed—Tony was in danger if—No, Stark wasn’t in danger. The sounds must have been on the television. Not real. But Stark was helping someone prepare for Loki’s trial, told someone about Loki, SHIELD must be bargaining for favors, must be—did Asgard know?

He tried to speak. His lips moved but he couldn’t get air enough to form words, and Loki’s chest burned. Burned, burned, burned and it was all so fast— and the spots were back, Tony looked so far away.

“Fuck, Lo,” Tony muttered before him, and Loki let the genius pull him to lean back against Stark’s chest, couldn’t resist. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Tony settled the god slightly to the left, Loki’s back over the mortal’s heart. The reactor was cool and solid in his shoulder, a firm button of pressure against his ribs. Tony’s legs encircled his on either side, warm and firm against Loki’s own longer limbs.

A hand rested across Loki’s chest, and Stark’s other arm wrapped tightly around the god’s waist. He felt Stark’s hand raise, then gently press down, and raise again. Behind him Tony’s own breaths followed the same rhythm.

“Just breathe. In and out. In.” Tony’s hand raised. “Out.” Gentle pressure on his chest. Again and again. And Tony’s voice was there, in his ear. “I got you, Lokes. Breathe with me.”

Moments passed. The last of the afternoon sun slipped lower in the horizon, and Jarvis increased the lights in the penthouse as the sky darkened. Finally, after what felt like forever, Loki’s breathing slowed. His throat felt swollen and bruised, and his chest hurt, ached from the exertion, but his hands were pale again.

“Lokes?” Tony muttered. There were fingers in the god’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp, smoothing wild, sweaty strands. “You with me again?”

Loki nodded, not trusting his voice.

“What did you hear?” Tony asked. Loki felt the mortal’s arms tighten around his shoulders as he tried to pull away. Then the god was on his feet, a stunned expression on Tony’s face as Loki looked down to see one of the knives back in his hand.

“Loki, please,” Tony pleaded. “Let me explain.”

“What’s to explain, Stark?” Loki hissed, taking careful steps away from the mortal. “I heard enough, you’re putting me on trial on Midgard anyway. After you _swore_ I was safe here.”

“What?” Tony looked genuinely confused, and Loki hesitated. “Loki, that’s not, I mean. Fuck. What?”

“Eloquent as always, Stark,” Loki growled.

Tony sighed, before he raised his hands in surrender and sat against the wall. “Let’s just, can you put the knife down? I can’t think when you’re waiving that around, and frankly you look sort of dizzy.”

Loki let the knife drop, clattering to the tile floor. Stark was not incorrect. The room was spinning dangerously, and the god took a few steps sideways to lean against the opposite wall. Slowly, his eyes never leaving Tony’s, Loki slid to the floor, the knife within his reach. 

“That’s better. Um,” Tony rubbed his eyes, “Okay, so let me start at the beginning. You know how humans make movies? And sometimes they are inspired by real world events?”

Loki gave a cursory nod.

“Well, they’re making a movie about, um, about New York. I mean, not New York the city, but um, you know, _New York_.”

 Loki went still; his heart stammered a beat in his chest. “About the Chitauri attack, you mean.”

“Yeah,” Tony exhaled. “That’s it. I swear. No trial.”

“Liar,” Loki spat, “You said there was to be a trial, I heard you!”

“What? No!” Stark appeared panicked. “I never said that. When did I say that? Jarvis, did I say that?”

“If I may interrupt, Sirs,” Jarvis’s voice echoed across the hallway, “Sir in fact said, ‘Real people who _deserve_ to have a fair trial in public opinion’.”

Tony’s face took on a curious, relieved expression, before it dawned on him. “Ah shit, Lokes,” Tony said suddenly. Loki looked up in surprise as the genius barked a tired laugh and buried his face in his hands. “You do so well here, sometimes I forget you aren’t from this planet. Realm. Whatever.”

“Speak plainly, Stark,” Loki mumbled, uncomfortable. His skin itched. Watching Tony laugh, even silently, grated on the god’s already frayed nerves.

Tony scooted closer, hands raised again as he approached. Loki sighed but kicked the knife away, letting Tony settle down beside him. Tony’s relief was palpable.

“They’re making a movie,” Tony explained, “but I get final approval. I had my lawyers make sure of it. Trademarks and all that.” Tony waived a hand, “Never mind, it’s all lawyer crap. It means that they can’t make the movie without my approval. And they have to show you as I saw you then.”

“I—“ Loki swallowed, “I don’t understand.”

“Loki, they have to show you were controlled like Barton. That you weren’t just some villainous asshole who wanted to rule Earth like in every old alien invasion movie. They have to show the truth,” Tony took the god’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers. “That’s the trial in public opinion. Showing the audiences what _really_ happened. Letting them come to terms with things, that you aren’t the bad guy that Fox News has been decrying since the whole thing happened. That’s it.”

“Oh. _Oh,_ ” Loki deflated, sinking into the wall. “You are—This is so—“

“Yeah, Snowflake,” Tony pulled Loki into a one-armed hug, “Pepper already has the whole thing planned out, a PR campaign to rival all PR campaigns. So that when this is all over, when SHIELD loosens the reigns, we can go to events and on dates and wherever else we want to go, without sunglasses and hats and long hair.”

“Oh,” Loki whispered again.

Tony pressed a kiss against Loki’s forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I worried it would upset you—“

“It did,” Loki’s voice hitched.

“Right. I thought you were still going to spar for a bit, or I never would have played the trailer here,” Tony’s grip tightened around Loki’s shoulder. “Though I didn’t think it would trigger a panic attack. Do you remember, what set it off?” 

Loki nodded, letting his chin fall forward and hair cascading around his face. “The clicking noises. The Chitauri?”

Tony inhaled sharply. “Right. We based those on recordings Jarvis gathered. Fuck. I’m so sorry, Lokes.”

“Do not apologize for my weakness, Stark.”

“A panic attack doesn’t make you weak,” Tony protested. “We’ve all been there. Is Steve weak? Am I?” Tony released the god’s shoulders suddenly, and Loki flinched in surprise as the genius stood suddenly. Then there was a hand before him, offering to pull Loki up. He took it, and stood. Stark wrapped his arms around the god, pulling the taller man into a hug, Stark’s nose against Loki’s shoulder, before the mortal wrinkled his nose and pulled away. “Ugh. No offence Lokes, but you stink.”

Loki felt the corners of his lips twist. “Pity,” he pouted. “I’m feeling very vulnerable, Stark. I just don’t know if I can manage right now.” 

It was supposed to be a jest, Loki thought. But he’d said it so sincerely, that Tony turned to study his face, before a gentle smile rose on the engineer’s face. “C’mon, Lo-Lo, I’ll help you wash your rock star hair. Jarvis got you a new conditioner to try, too.”

Loki let an exasperated sigh, but kept Stark’s hand in his as he trailed behind him.


	35. Graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this list of [Reasons to Stay Alive](http://arvensis5.tumblr.com/post/88655317580/thinking-about-doing-a-frostiron-drabble-series).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter *possibly* brought to you by recent events in my household. As in, yeah, definitely brought to you by recent events in my household. Also, this serves as my sorry-not-sorry for not updating faster, which will be clear as mud after you've read this chapter.

“It’s only for a few days, Loki,” Bruce had said. As if it were of no consequence, a mere trifling inconvenience. He was _wrong_. It was _disgusting_. “Drink the tea, and I’ll send up something to soothe your throat in just a bit.”

Loki had nodded, unwilling to even lift his head from the couch. For what choice did he have? It hadn’t been but a few days since that terrifying panic attack, and now he was quarantined until Bruce isolated whatever had caused his illness.

 _Illness_. What an innocuous word for something so vile.

He blew his nose into another of the white squares and folded up the contents in quick jerks before he could see it. That a mortal’s body would produce such revolting secretions—Loki had forgotten that mortals suffered from disease and sicknesses and other germs that Aesir never bothered with, that the humans could be brought low by—

He fingered the invisible bands across his wrists, the barest of gossamer threads invisible yet with just enough weight he could get his nail around the surface texture, could tell the bands were still in place, restricting his magic, controlling his form. His head ached, and his chest was so tight and painful that he’d woken with a shout that morning, convinced Thor’s damned hammer was sitting on his sternum again.

It was a humbling thought.

For one, Loki grimaced around the unfamiliar emotion uncomfortable as his sore throat, it made him wonder if Thor had _truly_ been so weak during his banishment that, when the Destroyer attacked, Thor might actually have been in danger. That the All-Father would do that to his own son, risk him amongst these mortals so…

And after two days stuck alone with his thoughts and weaknesses with only Steve’s occasional food runs for company, Loki was ready to throw the couch, along with everything else in the modern-but-not-home suite, out the perfectly formed window. For if Odin was willing to make Thor mortal for the sake of a lesson, it was apparent that Loki too was now so weak, sick and tired and shaking with chills as this Midgardian illness ravaged his form. 

Tony quite dedicatedly managed to pop up on video conference whenever the god was feeling particularly annoyed or lonely, thanks to Jarvis probably, but there was only so much of staring at the mortal on the screen that Loki could take before the frustration at not being able to leave his current accommodations became too much. It wasn’t the same.

After they’d cleaned up from Loki’s panic attack, Stark had ordered takeaway from their favorite Chinese restaurant, and huddled down beside the god for an extended movie night. Loki had finally seen _Star Wars_ , though he didn’t remember much of the ending; between kissing like teenagers with muffled snickers and nips and licks as Han Solo was frozen on screen by that blob-like creature, Loki only caught bits and pieces of the last movie they’d watched, before other delights had taken greater priority. 

He grinned at the memory of that night, then sneezed. His throat ached with a fierce burn as he coughed after, and Loki mustered up the energy to reach for his tea.

A few days later, he’d woken up with fever, too warm and sweating through the sheets. Tony had looked surprised, then nervous as his cool fingers had grazed over Loki’s forehead that morning. He’d called Bruce immediately after.

“Mr. Lie-Smith, you have an incoming communication, on a secure line,” Jarvis chimed in, muting the television program Loki had been ignoring.

Loki groaned and leaned forward to let his head fall in his hands, rubbing his eyes. “Why is Stark calling on a secure line? I thought he was in his workshop.”

“It is Director Fury on the line,” Jarvis sounded as surprised as Loki. “And he is quiet adamant that you accept the secure communication. As I will not be able to monitor his call, would you like me to alert Sir?” 

“No,” Loki coughed, clearing his throat. “No need to worry Stark. I will accept Fury’s call.”

Loki supposed that Jarvis disapproved of his decision, because the AI didn’t respond. Instead, the screen flickered to show the Director’s smug face, eye patch and all.

“Well, well, well,” Fury grinned, all teeth. "Real Power can get sick after all."

Loki mustered the energy to shrug, before responding in his gravely voice. “If you’ve wasted a secure line to gloat about my current circumstances, that seems like a wasteful use of government resources to me.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Fury paced before the camera, “the sight of you, red nosed and droopy eyed, has greatly cheered me. In fact, I’m so fucking cheerful right now, I’m revoking your house arrest.”

“Pardon me?” Loki blinked, uncertain if his fever had returned. 

“I said, you are off house arrest. You can leave the tower, go get donuts or street food or whatever the else it is you and Stark have snuck out for over the last few months,” Fury smirked. “Of course, you’ve agreed to consult for SHIELD. I’ll send Stark a contract for his attorneys to bleed red all over.”

“Oh goody,” Loki grumbled, his sore throat catching on the words. He coughed again, unable to hold it in, and grimaced at the satisfied look on Fury’s face.

“Don’t fuck this up, Loki.  Don’t go killing anyone or trying to take over my planet again or there _will_ be consequences,” Fury growled, before a thoughtful look overtook the Director’s face. “You don’t like having the flu?” Fury asked innocently. Something in his tone gave Loki the chills. “There are plenty of more terrifying diseases here on Earth. Like Ebola. Smallpox. The Plague. Have you been watching the news, Real Power?”

Loki studied the Director’s face. The barest hint of a smile curled at the edge of Fury’s lips, and Loki thought he saw the man’s cheek twitch with a hint of amusement. “You—” Loki cleared his throat, the truth dawning on him like a painful jolt, “You did this to me.”

Fury did smile this time. “Just wanted to make sure that if we let the genie out of the bottle, we could get him back in again.” 

“How—” Loki managed, choked on his nausea and rage building like a burning spot beneath his sternum, replacing the space where his heart should have been. Had Natash— Did Romanova know about this? Did Barton? How did Fury manage to expose him, was— “Was Stark exposed? Can mortals die from the flu? What does—”

“Relax,” Fury huffed what might have been a laugh from anyone else, “It was a fast-acting viral form. No one else will catch it. The good doctor was kind enough to quarantine you quickly, as I expected.”

“Clever,” Loki growled, “and a dangerous game you are playing, Director.”

Fury shrugged. “Tell Stark I like the new SUV. Enjoy your week in quarantine, I’ll send over some magazines.” The line went black, leaving the SHIELD logo briefly before the screen returned to the game show Loki had been half-heartedly watching.

Loki cursed, letting his head fall back into his hands, the heels of his palms digging into the sensitive flesh above his eyes. His chest was painfully tight, and the god didn’t know if it was because of his illness or the sickening sense of betrayal he felt. Fury wouldn’t have kept his agents in the dark, would he? And how did Fury manage to infect him, if not for Natasha or Barton, who lived here—

He shivered.

“Mr. Lie-Smith?” Jarvis interrupted. “Sir wants to know what Fury said. You appear… distressed, if I might say so, after the call.”

Loki chuckled, but it quickly turned into a cough, “You told him Fury called.”

“I always act in the best interests of those under my care, Mr. Lie-Smith.” Jarvis’s voice was gentle, almost kind for a construct, and Loki remembered how fiercely loyal the AI could be towards its creator.

“Very well. Could you—“ Loki sighed, refilling his tea from the thermos Steve had sent up, “Is it possible for you to set up a secure line with Tony in the workshop? I don’t, ah, I don’t want anyone else to possibly listen in for now.”

Jarvis made an affirmative-sounding noise before the screen flickered again, and Tony’s worried, grease-stained face appeared. He looked healthy, if not tired; without Loki around to drag the genius out of the workshop, it was apparent to the god that he hadn’t slept much in the last few days.

“Tony,” Loki muttered, the name like a prayer across his lips.

“Hey there Lokes,” Tony’s smile was tight, pained. “What did ol’ One-Eye want?” 

“Fury said to tell you that he approved of the SUV? Apparently so much that I am no longer restricted to the tower during the probationary period.”

“He said that?” Tony’s face lit up, his dark eyes bright with mirth.

“He said I am, ah, ‘off of house arrest,’ if that makes my legal status clear?” Loki took a sip of his tea as Tony whooped and fist-pumped. The god managed to paint a watery grin across his face, to pretend even through his aches and pains that the news pleased him as it clearly pleased his lover. 

He wouldn’t tell him yet, about Fury’s threat. Not until the god knew whether Romanova or Barton were aware of Fury’s actions. Not until Loki knew whom among the Avengers he could still trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to get at least one more chapter in, if not two, plus some other surprises, before the New Year. The ride is about to get bumpy folks, buckle up.


	36. Buying your first lottery ticket

“You’re right, it _is_ the flu,” Bruce scratched his head. “I just can’t figure out how you got it. It’s even one of the strands covered in this year’s vaccine, and I gave Tony that one myself.”

“Yeah I remember,” Tony chimed in over the video feed. “Hurt, too!”

“Only because you wouldn’t sit still!” Bruce argued. “It’s a tiny needle.”

“That sounds archaic,” Loki coughed, wiping his nose. His aches had mostly disappeared as his fever had broken, but his nasal passages had apparently not decided to give it up yet. “How is the, ah, _virus_ transmitted?”

Bruce polished his lenses on the edge of his shirt, exhaling in a move that Loki had come to realize was meant to calm him. “Through the air. Coughing, sneezing, that sort of thing. It can live on surfaces, too. The incubation time can be anywhere from a few days to a week, there’s no telling how you were exposed.”

Loki hummed. It had been almost two weeks ago, when he and Romanova had ventured out to that mall in New Jersey, and just over a week and a half since he had sparred with her and the Captain. Neither of which fit the window for a faster acting inhalant exposure.

“Bad luck,” Tony waved a hand, clearly impatient. “Could be anything. Could have been on the surface of the groceries we order in, or when we got Chinese food. Or maybe we’re all carriers since we’re vaccinated.”

“Tony, be reasonable,” Bruce sighed again. “There’s no such thing as a carrier; this is the flu not the Andromeda Strain.”

“Whatever. When do I get my boyfriend back?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Awww come on Brucie,” Tony whined. “I’m already _vaccinated_. And _bored._ ” 

“Too bad,” Bruce rolled his eyes, picking up his tea mug. “You can make eyes at each other over video for one more night, just to be safe.”

Loki sighed, stretching out on the couch. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely upon Stark, to appreciate waking from nightmares enveloped in that soft blue light, a warm body beside him. Jarvis’s calm voice asking after his health when he’d woken screaming from a night terror simply wasn’t the same. He _hated_ being alone now, which was both annoying and embarrassing. He’d been alone for decades, centuries even. Why should sleeping so now bother him? 

(Loki knew _why_ but he was purposefully _not_ thinking about it. His nightmares were bad enough as it was.) 

“I tried, Lokes,” Tony mumbled, and the god turned his head as the screen rolled closer, Tony’s eyes on the video-screen level with his own from where he reclined on the sofa. Three days into his confinement, Tony had sent up a motion-activated robot with a video screen attached—complete with wheels and a metal claw like Dum-E’s arm— that the inventor could move around the room from his workspace. “With those odds, I hate to say it, but step thirty-six is probably rather pointless.”

The god threw an arm over his eyes, blocking out the muted afternoon sun. “Jarvis, remind me what _fascinating_ human milestone step thirty-six is supposed to encompass?”

Tony barked a laugh. “Really down on us mere humans right now, eh? Just because of a lil’ ol’ flu bug?”

“You are more than welcome to catch it, Stark,” Loki grumbled.

“Nope,” The mortal grinned. “You looked miserable enough for both of us, sweetheart.”

“If you are quite finished, Sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “Step thirty six involves the purchasing of a lottery ticket. It is a game of chance, if you will.”

Loki grimaced. “It appears I’ve already lost.”

The bot’s robotic arm nudged his shoulder, and Loki moved his arm. Tony’s unusually serious gaze in the video screen looked pained, and Loki wished suddenly that he’d not been so off-putting. “It’s only one more night,” he muttered instead.

“Yeah,” Stark agreed. “Only one more night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, didn't mean for it to be a month. To say work has been crazy would be like saying the sun is bright. Hopefully things will slow down here a bit soon.


	37. Lucky Pennies

Loki had only been out of quarantine for a few days when the news came.

Barton had left first. Shipped off to some deep undercover mission in South America, out of the way and out of the tower. He left within hours, with barely a nod to his friends that morning before he shifted a pack across his shoulders and took off.  But Romanova didn’t seem concerned, so Loki ignored it. Besides, he still didn’t know whether the SHIELD spies were trustworthy, not anymore.

But the next day, it was Steve and Nat’s turn. Like two pennies scooped up from the fountain, their wishes discarded, luck gone and wasted.

Loki had arrived in the kitchen early that morning to see Steve baking cookies, before the early winter sun had peaked across the horizon. The Captain looked tired. As though he’d been up for hours or hadn’t actually slept.

Loki cleared his throat. “Was there an Avengers mission last night that I was unaware of?” he asked, gesturing to the baking tray.

Steve scraped a cookie from the parchment sheet, leveling it onto the cooling rack. Even from this distance, on the other side of the breakfast bar, Loki could smell the rich chocolate and butter scent.

“No, nothing like that. Did, ah, we just—” Steve sighed, hesitating as he scrapped the last cookie from the tray, a faint crack appearing in the middle of the pastry before Rogers smoothed it down with the spatula. “I’m moving out. Of the tower, I mean. Uh, actually, out of town too. Moving to D.C. Nat is, too.”

“Oh,” Loki blinked, taking a cookie. “I had not heard.”

“Yeah, Fury wants us closer to SHIELD’s HQ now that—ah, now that you’re no longer on house arrest.” Steve shrugged, a tint of pink washing across his cheeks in the gentle glow of twilight. “Well, I guess it’s proof that SHIELD has decided you’re not a threat, Loki. I just wish— it doesn’t matter, I guess. Orders are orders. I’ve just, you know, not counting basic training and the USO tour, never lived anywhere besides New York before.”

“You are sworn to do as they demand, Captain?” Loki prodded. He’d know the Soldier and spies had moved in with Stark as a condition to his parole on Earth, but not that _Rogers_ had been ordered by SHIELD to do so.

“I’m a soldier,” Steve shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what else to do with myself.”

Loki looked away. “I suppose I understand.” And he did, unfortunately. Without endless campaigns brought on by Thor’s restless energy, without his seidr and books, Loki sometimes felt lost, adrift in the daily lives of Midgard’s heroes.

Steve smiled again, that easy grin that he used on his friends; it was disarming. “I’m sure we’ll be back soon enough. Doom will act up again, something will happen. Tony’s a trouble magnet.”

Loki snorted. _Trouble magnet_ , indeed. Steve hadn’t mention Thanos, and for that Loki was grateful. “Does Tony know yet?” he asked instead.

“No. I tried to tell you guys last night, but Jarvis said—“ Steve coughed. “Uh, we found out late yesterday. Nat’s getting a transport for us this afternoon, something that my bike can fit on. I’m already packed; just a few bags and books after all.”

Loki hummed, his face burning as he thought of why Jarvis wouldn’t let the good Captain interrupt him and Tony the night before. Suddenly the room felt warm, too warm, as it always did to the god when he realized that these humans knew of his relationship with Stark, _assumed_ that he and Tony were intimate, and _didn’t care_. Even Barton’s jests had mellowed in the last few months, ever since he’d saved the archer’s life. “Well, I will wish you a safe journey now, Captain—”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” Loki returned. “I’ll make sure Tony stops by before you depart. He’ll be—“ the god searched for the right word, “disappointed, I believe he’s come to enjoy having others around in his home.” The rest of Loki’s comment, _after a lifetime of_ solitude, was implicit, if the look in Steve’s blue eye was anything to go by.

“Thanks Loki.” The blond man dumped the cooking trays into the sink, reaching for the scrub brush. “And hey,” Steve added, splashing water as he turned. “You guys should come visit D.C., since you’re no longer restricted to the tower.”

“I will consider it,” Loki hedged. “Though I think I’ll stay close to the city, until Stark manages a way to prevent the Mad Titan from tracking me.”

“Oh.” Steve’s face fell. Loki wished he’d remained silent. “Alright. You got any big plans, now that you can explore town?”

Loki shrugged. “I’d like to see what all the fuss is about the museums. Maybe visit the Public Library in Midtown. Perhaps see this _Brooklyn_ you proclaim such fondness for.” 

Steve grinned again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. I think it’ll be good for you, to get out more.” And before Loki could step away, the super soldier had turned and grasped Loki’s arm, firmly shaking the gods hand before he clapped Loki on the shoulder and strode away.

Left alone in the kitchen, Loki let his fingers drift along the countertop until he found what he’d come for. He flipped the switches on various machines and placed two mugs beneath the spout, waiting patiently as the device huffed and puffed and brewed his requests. One Americano—extra strong with one sugar—for Tony, and one chai latte made with soymilk for himself. Tony had a board meeting at eight, and Pepper had promised consequences most foul if Loki didn’t manage to produce the inventor on time. 

It was not particularly surprising, that Rogers and Romanova should be moved elsewhere. Especially if Fury had determined that the god was no more a threat than any other human. As assets went, Loki could see the game Fury was playing needed many more chess pieces than the Director had at his disposal, and leaving some of his best warriors to guard a fallen prince had left the organization exposed. Loki couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for Fury, but SHIELD _was_ the only Midgardian organization that knew of the threat Thanos presented, that understood what was coming.

It’d be a shame, Loki thought, picking up his and Tony’s coffees along with a few of the Captain’s baked goods, if anything should befall SHIELD because Fury’s resources had been stretched so thin after New York.


	38. Laughing

“I bet I can,” Tony bragged, his fingers trailing over Loki’s abdomen, searching with light touches. “Full belly laugh, too. We’ll get that step thirty-eight knocked out tonight.”

“You’re quite the optimist today, Stark,” Loki’s voice sounded too loud in the empty common room; he felt exposed on the sofa, as his words echoed off the too-empty walls in an uncomfortable cacophony. And it wasn’t just the emptiness of the tower that bothered the god. He felt raw, unsheltered—as though he’d stood outside in the rain and wind for hours—ever since he had been released from quarantine two weeks ago. It wasn’t a side effect of the virus; he’d checked. Merely a reaction to the unknown, to not knowing whether he could still trust those his heart had started to call friends.

A little more than a week after Barton, Rogers, and Romanova had all departed the tower, Banner too had left to attend some conference and research fellowship in Europe; something to do with gamma radiation and applications to flora in the lower Baltic, if the god understood it correctly. Arranged by SHIELD, of course. Bruce would be gone from the tower for almost three months, off in some remote location watching plants grow.

Loki was not surprised.

He’d taken to sleeping with the knives Romanova had given him, under his pillow and stuffed in the crack between the mattress and headboard, where he could reach them in seconds. Because why else would Fury disperse Tony’s strange family across the planet, if the Director wasn’t planning something in retaliation?

Tony’s lips hovered just over the god’s belly button, hesitating. “What about here?” the inventor whispered reverently.

“I’ve told you,” Loki mumbled, entirely too relaxed for Tony’s obsessive explorations. “I’m not ticklish.”

“That’s ridiculous, Snowflake. Everyone’s ticklish.” Tony’s beard grazed his stomach, the sensation sending chills down Loki’s spine. “Ha! I saw that!”

“You gave me goose bumps,” Loki protested. “Why do they even call it that? I’ve seen a Midgardian goose, it is not bumpy.”

“Under the feathers, Lokes,” Tony exhaled, the warmth prickling Loki’s flesh along the sparse hair across his abdomen that peeked out from the god’s trousers. “It’s a reference to the goose without feathers; the bird’s flesh after being plucked. Bird’s cold without the feathers, see? And looks bumpy.”

Loki grimaced, scrunching up his nose. “I did not actually need to know that.”

 **“** You asked,” Tony’s voice was muffled as he nipped and licked a line across Loki’s abdomen, just above the god’s pants. His beard scrapped in gentle wisps across Loki’s stomach, making the god twitch from the feather-light touches.

“Is that supposed to tickle?” Loki smirked. “If so, I’m quite certain I’m ticklish. Just a few inches lower, though.”

“You’re so funny,” Tony’s tongue darted out to lick a circle, before it dipped lower, teasing at the elastic of Loki’s boxers, “that I forgot to laugh.”

“I thought that was the point?” Loki arched his hips up. “Laughter?”

“Yes, but _you_ are supposed to laugh, not me,” Tony grinned, before he nipped gently at Loki’s hip and scraped his teeth up the god’s side until he reached the hem of Loki’s dark green t-shirt.

The genius bit the edge of Loki’s shirt and tugged it up with his teeth, his calloused fingers grazing in short movements over the god’s ribs beneath. Loki lifted his shoulders to let his lover tug the shirt over his head, the god’s dark hair falling in waves behind him as he reclined back against the throw pillows. Tony’s touches felt light and unhurried, his rough fingertips grazing over the smooth surface of Loki’s muscle and bone, tracing each rib and definition line as he systematically worked his way up the god’s chest. The contrast sent sparks of electricity and _want_ down the god’s spine that made him ache for more, more touching, more _everything_.

“How about here?” Tony pressed a kiss against Loki’s chest, before kissing a line across the god’s pecs towards his left nipple.

Loki inhaled sharply. “I think I preferred the last spot, I just might be ticklish there after all.”

“Good try, Lokes,” Tony chuckled, giving another short lick at Loki’s nipple before he pressed another kiss to the center of Loki’s chest “But I’m on a mission here, Cupcake.”

“Mmm.” Loki smirked, letting his hands come to rest on Tony’s thighs. “Perhaps I should wage a counter-attack, then.”

“Did you just challenge me?” Tony blinked, his roaming fingers ceasing their careful exploration of Loki’s ribs. “If you laugh first I win, and if I give in to sexy times first, you win?”

Loki chuckled, lifting his hips to press into Stark’s crotch. “That’s such an easy challenge, Stark. You’re already halfway there. Hardly seems fair.”

“Oh yeah? You think so?” Tony leaned back, aligning their dicks as the mortal propped his chin up to rest on Loki’s chest.

“That is supposed to convince me otherwise?” Loki shifted against Stark, gratified when the mortal had to swallow down a moan.

“Maybe a few ground rules” Tony qualified. “You can’t use your hands. Or that mouth!”

“Sounds boring,” Loki smirked. Tony’s dick was firmly pressed to Loki's waist, as the mortal dragged himself up the length of the trickster's torso, his lips tracing the outline of Loki’s collarbone across his shoulder and towards the god’s jaw.

“Oh I dunno,” Tony said, before he licked at a spot just beneath Loki’s jaw. “I see this as a win-win.”

“And yet I’m not laughing,” Loki huffed an amused sound, tilting his chin up.

“I’m not finished yet,” Tony’s tongue grazed a pattern across the god’s collarbone, following the path forged by the genius’s fingers. “Maybe you’re ticklish behind your knees, for all I know. Second rule, you roll over, stand up, whatever I ask while I explore. For science, you know.”

Loki angled his hips again, smirking as Tony shivered from the pressure. “You seem rather patient, for someone that hard already,” he commended.

“Uh huh,” Tony rocked into Loki, firm and warm and all fire, as the mortal propped himself up on one arm. Loki bit his lip, to stifle a whimper that threatened to spill from the edge of his tongue as their eyes met; Tony’s warm chocolate eyes were intense, focused as the shorter man studied Loki’s face, backlit by fading light of the city. For not the first time, Loki wondered what the mortal found so interesting, when he studied the trickster like that, as though the rest of the universe had ceased to exist around them. Then Tony’s lips were on his, and the god’s tongue traced a line across the genius’s mouth, willing the mortal to invite him in. And Tony’s lips captured his instead, the inventor’s tongue hot and heavy against his own, scraping a line across Loki’s lip and teeth and tongue, darting playfully forward as he sought to taste and tease the trickster in return.

Tony pulled away from the kiss first, breathless as he rested his forehead against Loki’s, before the engineer huffed another laugh. “Broke the first rule already,” he tsked. “No silver tongue.”

“You kissed _me_ , Stark,” Loki protested.

Tony dropped a leg to the floor and pushed himself up. “I concede, you aren’t ticklish on your chest. Now roll over.”

Loki gave a put-upon exhale before he shifted, letting himself sink back into the sofa and careful to adjust himself as he moved; the pressure on his dick in the leather cushions was exquisite, made more intriguing as Stark straddled his lower back and leaned forward. Warm calloused fingers dug into the knots in his shoulders, and Loki sighed into the touch.

But for the sound of Tony’s careful movements, the silence stretched on, warm and comfortable as Tony moved his hands up and down the god’s pale back, slowly mapping the tension points and knots categorically as he moved. Loki waited patiently, letting the inventor’s fingers catalog his tension. He could almost hear Stark’s thoughts, loud and insistent as the mortal debated how to ask whatever it was he thought Loki might not answer.

“So what is it?” Tony finally asked, his thumbs attacking a particularly stubborn knot running the length of Loki’s right shoulder blade. “What’s got you this tense?”

The god’s voice was muffled against his arms. “What makes you think I’m tense?”

Tony’s knuckles rubbed a sharp line down the god’s spine, muscle and sinew clicking around the pressure. Loki groaned in relief as Tony’s thumbs and fingers found the worst of his knots with firm insistence. The man had learned to give massages like he learned everything; intensive study and experimentation over time, with a keen awareness for reactions. It was _exquisite_.

“You’re sleeping with the throwing knives,” Tony’s voice was hesitant, cautious, and Loki felt a twinge of guilt that he was hiding the truth from Stark, about what Fury had done. “Not that I‘m one to talk; I’ve been sleeping with a gauntlet in the nightstand.”

Loki hummed as Tony turned his attention to the god’s neck, with elongated strokes from Loki’s hairline down his shoulders. His muscles ached and burned in equal measure, in relief and resistance as the tension drained slowly away.

“It’s nothing,” Loki managed after a while. “Just don’t like how empty the tower is.”

“Liar,” Tony whispered under his breath, before his talented fingers attacked the knot at the base of Loki’s neck in quick, firm movements.

“S’true,” Loki objected. It was near impossible to put words together in a coherent sentence, with Tony doing _that_ to his neck.

“Maybe, or at least partially true,” Tony conceded. “But you were already tense before the others left. So what _else_ happened? Just rattled that you got the flu still?”

Loki hummed in agreement, unable to hide his sigh as Tony’s fingers continued to dig along his shoulders, searching. Let Stark believe that was what had so unnerved the god. Let him believe that discovering he was well and truly mortal, human enough to succumb to their illnesses, was what weighed most on Loki’s mind. “I thought you were going to make me laugh,” he grumbled, doing his best to sound put out at Stark’s perceptiveness.

Tony’s fingers hesitated before Loki felt his hair lift from his neck, twisted twice into a makeshift bun that Tony secured with a band he’d seemingly pulled out of nowhere. The man’s fingers drifted upward in long strokes, and Loki felt like putty beneath a master clay-thrower’s fingers, stretched and warm and meshed into nothing. Then Loki felt the cool air on his neck as the mortal’s fingers lifted from his shoulders. He shivered once, before warm lips and a wet tongue caressed the soft skin on the back of his neck along his hairline, behind one ear.

It _tickled_ as Tony’s beard grazed his skin in a gentle caress, and Loki couldn’t hold back an undignified squeal of laughter as he tried to pull away. He giggled helplessly beneath the assault.

“I win!” Stark exclaimed.

“Yes, you do,” Loki hummed, rolling onto his back beneath Stark, his hands instinctively coming to grasp Tony's hips as the taller man shifted beneath his lover's thighs. Loki stifled a moan as Tony leaned back onto his lap, letting his ass rest against the god's dick. The inventor smirked, and rocked back again.

Then Loki lifted his heels to rest flat against the couch, his thighs pressed into Stark’s back, before he shoved off forcefully and flipped Tony beneath him. The mortal gave an undignified yelp as he found himself unexpectedly pinned under the god of mischief, Loki now straddling Tony as the trickster's nimble fingers reached for the button on the engineer’s jeans.

“My turn now,” Loki grinned.


	39. Re-reading your favorite book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should have probably mentioned this like four chapters ago, but [Horns-of-Mischief](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/pseuds/Horns%20of%20Mischief) has been taking her first reading rights very, very seriously (What? Bribery? Blackmail? Me???? Never!!!? Ha!!!). Without her beta-read and comments of the last four chapters, especially on this one because there were just some little tweaks that were *escaping* me, well, these wouldn't have been as good. Or probably done as quickly. Or both. Let's go with both. *cough* (Thank you, Horns.)

“What are you reading?” Pepper asked, startling Loki.

He turned to look over his shoulder, surprised to find the redhead CEO standing so close to his reading chair. Tony had retrofitted a corner of the penthouse lounge into Loki’s ‘nook’ several months ago, after the god had destroyed the entertainment room in a misplaced fit of rage. The genius had said the god needed a place that was his space, as _clearly_ the entertainment room hadn’t pleased him, so he’d had Jarvis order a few designer bookshelves and hauled up the most comfortable chair he could find along with a circular lamp that dangled over the chair. It was perfect—with a view of the entire room and main elevators and the bookshelves next to him—except that the chair was positioned so that someone approaching from Tony’s own private elevator could creep up behind him.

As apparently Pepper had done, he noticed with belated amusement even as his heart tried to hammer a pathway through his ribcage.

Normally her trademark heels clicking on the tile floors gave her entrance away in the penthouse, if she weren’t also typically arguing loudly with Tony or with the phone glued to her ear, or both. He looked down to see her holding the rim of a pair of black winter boots in her hand; she’d padded up behind him on silent, stocking-clad feet.

“Step thirty-nine is re-reading your favorite book,” Loki smiled easily at her, willing himself to relax. It was only _Pepper_ , even if she had snuck up on him. Loki supposed he should angle the chair, if Pepper of all mortals could sneak up on him now. _What would the Warriors Three say now?_ , he scoffed, _Little Loki, so pathetic a warrior that even untrained Midgardians could disconcert him_. He made a mental note to ask Tony who, precisely, could access his private lifts. “Since I’m limited by Earth’s selection, I’m rereading one I enjoyed last autumn— _Stranger in a Strange Land_.”

“Oh!” Pepper exclaimed. “Good choice, I grok it,” She fiddled with her shoes, worrying her lip between her teeth, before she huffed a laugh and continued, “You do realize the irony, though? A Norse god reading a book that parodies the role of religion on Earth, as interpreted by an alien, or you know, in this case, an alien _god_?” 

“It is an enlightening book, nonetheless,” Loki slipped a metal ruler in between pages to mark his place. “Were you here looking for Tony? Because I was under the impression that he had meetings to attend in R&D this morning. That you arranged.”

Pepper chuckled. “You’re on to me, aren’t you?”

Loki sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “I presume he asked if you would take me on an outing away from the tower? Perhaps attempt to pry about what presently ails me?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, we’re just going to lunch,” she insisted. “Promise I won’t be nosy.”

“Really,” the trickster managed not to smile.

“Well, not _too_ nosy,” Pepper corrected. 

“And I suppose I have no choice in the matter?” Loki smiled to take the sting out of his words. He should have known Tony wouldn’t be so easily placated. If the mortal figured out that Loki had been acting under Thanos’s control during New York, _of course_ he could see through Loki’s falsehood about what had prompted the god to sleep with his knives.

Pepper grinned victoriously. “Nope.” 

“Very well then,” Loki heaved a sigh. “Lead on.”

* * *

It was a short but cold walk to the restaurant that Pepper selected, and Loki was quiet as she navigated them through the streets of the city, a sly grin across her features as she stepped lively around the traffic. The cold wind teased his cheeks; the ethereal touch of the moist wind felt both like it should sting and caress. He was certain his Aesir visage looked as pink and windblown as Pepper’s own did by the time they’d arrived.

The café was small, boasting French cuisine and excellent coffee according to their menu. He’d held the door open for Pepper, and helped her untangle from her enormous coat.

A man had appeared moments later and shuffled them quickly to a table set off a ways from the main dining area. The table for two stood separated by a half wall that gave it some illusions of privacy despite the large, open design, with an array of windows directly beside the table; it was quieter, too, in the little alcove. The trickster could see the wisdom of such a spot immediately; it was the perfect location for a quick meeting or private conversation, shielded from prying eyes and ears from within the main dining room, but also filtered with light.

“I originally found this place because Tony liked the coffee,” Pepper leaned over to whisper to Loki while they waited. “Food’s fantastic too, but you better grab him a to-go cup before we head out or he’ll whine about it all afternoon.”

Loki smirked. “Understood.”

Pepper blew on her fingers, rubbing her hands together to warm them. “I can’t believe you didn’t even put on a hat,” she complained. “Supposedly it’s going to snow later.”

“The cold does not bother me,” Loki said absently. The menu was odd. While he could read the words, their meaning escaped him. Escargot? It sounded familiar, but did he want to know why?

“Is that because, ah, that—“ she paused as a waiter placed a small vessel containing hot water and an assortment of tea bags on the table, as well as a basket of warm pastries and breads, “—Is that an, you know, an _Asgardian_ thing?”

“Not exactly,” Loki grimaced, taking a sip of his own tea, something fruity with hints of lemon, to hide his discomfort. “The Aesir are more than susceptible to chill. It is, I suppose, possibly because of _my_ true nature.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Pepper’s eyes widened. “Oh god, does Tony know? He’ll try to reverse engineer it like he did Extremis. Don’t tell Tony!”

“Extreme?” Loki blinked.

“Extremis. He didn’t tell you?” Pepper gently fished out the teabag from her cup, placing it on the saucer. “Last summer, he got into a bit of trouble with a group of terrorists.”

“Terrorists?” Loki clarified, narrowing his eyes. “Is this what Romanova refers to as ‘that time when Stark’s house exploded because he opened his mouth and inserted his foot’? I remember when he showed up at SHIELD afterwards. He had black thread knit into his forehead.”

Pepper giggled, a surprisingly pretty sound considering she almost snorted her tea. “Yeah, he had stitches above his eye. Long story short, Happy got injured, Tony lost his temper and _may_ have given the media, and therefore the terrorists, his home address.”

“Brilliant,” Loki muttered, taking a bite of the pastries that had arrived. “One wonders how he survived to adulthood.”

Pepper’s exasperated smile matched his own, as she picked apart a dinner roll. “And then, _surprisingly_ , to absolutely no one with a hint of common sense, the terrorists showed up.” She looked out the window, her features drawn and tighter than Loki had seen. It was clear that whatever had occurred still caused her discomfort.

“Pepper,” Loki murmured. “We do not need to discuss what transpired, if even thinking of it leaves you so…”

Pepper gave the god a bitter smile. “Melancholic? Teary-eyed?”

Loki noticed with growing horror that her eyes were damp. “I was going to say unnerved.”

She huffed a strangled sound, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m even emotional. I mean yes, sure, I almost _died_ , Tony too, but he— Well, the bad guys infected me with something called Extremis – it’s revolutionary, really. We’re talking regrowth of limbs, super healing, strength resembling what Steve has or greater. And I was really, really hot, like I could walk through fire hot.”

“Really?” Loki’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes, and if it wasn’t for the whole spontaneous combustion and irrational anger aspects, it would have been spectacular.” Pepper laughed self-deprecatingly. “Anyway, Tony reverse engineered it so he could turn it ‘off’. So I did _not_ explode, after all.”

Loki’s brow furrowed. “And you think he could do the same, with my, ah, _colder_ nature?”

“Oh, no, no. That’s not—” Pepper sighed. “That’s not what I meant.” She reached a hand across the table, grasping onto Loki’s fingers. Her hands were still ice-cold from the short walk, and Loki tilted his head, confused. “Loki,” Pepper exhaled. “I don’t think he could, or even _would_ , change your underlying structure. Because there is _nothing_ wrong with you. I meant that he’d try to create a _human_ variant, that reduced a person’s susceptibility to cold. Just as, with Extremis, I was, for however briefly, impervious to fire. _Literally_.”

“Oh,” Loki made an effort to look up, a smile so false that it ached at the edges of his mouth. He could see why Tony had loved her. Still did love her, in some ways, if the mortal would ever be honest with himself. Pepper was _good_ ; she was smart and kind, and judged people for their intentions, not their actions. It was a strangely pragmatic combination, and she reminded the god very strongly of a less maternal, more forward version of Frigga.

“Right.” Pepper squeezed his hand, releasing the trickster in favor of selecting another miniature breadstick. “But if you tell him that you aren’t cold walking around when it’s twenty degrees and sleeting,” she continued, “he’ll set up some thermo-molecular monitoring or something. Next thing you know you’ll be standing in dry ice while he rattles off statistics.”

Loki chuckled. “He’s already tried. Believe me. Bruce fended him off.”

“Oh no. And now that Banner’s off at that conference—” Pepper drummed her fingers on the table, finally warmed after their short walk. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask Jarvis to keep a better eye on Tony’s lab while Banner isn’t around to babysit him. You should go read in the lab, at least.”

Loki hummed, taking another sip of his tea. He had _no_ intention of reading in the workshop, away from his favored spot and beside HERBIE, even if Stark had covered it with a sheet and made little black circles and a mouth on the front, as though it was a Midgardian ‘ghost’ costume. It still made Loki nervous, irrational as it may be.

And besides, the last few times he’d come to the workshop to see what the genius was up to, Stark had hidden his projects away. Just the other day, Loki had stood at the doorway, waiting impatiently with two mugs of coffee in his hands as Stark had scurried around the laboratory, stuffing various pieces and parts away before Jarvis would unlatch the door. Whatever Tony was working on, he did _not_ want Loki to see it.

“I’m serious. He gets—” Pepper hesitated, worrying her lip again as she looked out the window. “Look, he’s not used to having friends. You know that. And now, that Fury’s moving everyone else around, he’s going to take it hard. Well, harder than he’s already taking it. Jarvis said he’s been in the workshop nonstop the last few weeks, ever since Steve and Natasha left.”

“Yes, well, we do what we must,” Loki muttered, not wanting to discuss Fury or how Tony had been avoided him for the last few weeks. Except for the one night they’d spent ‘christening’ the couch in the common room, Loki had barely seen the genius. Stark was so busy working on his new _secret_ project in the workshop, that he barely had time for anything—or anyone— else. Loki could count on one hand the number of meals they’d shared in the last week. And the _worst_ part was the secrecy; that Stark felt the need to hide whatever he was working on from the god. It made Loki feel useless, as though Tony didn’t need him.

At least, not nearly as much as the god still needed Tony. _Pathetic_.

“And honestly, the nerve of that man,” Pepper pressed on, chewing her lip as she fiddled with her teaspoon in a worried gesture. “Clint and Natasha, I can understand; they work for SHIELD, after all. But why would he make Steve move too?” She huffed, tapping her spoon in a sharp clank on the rim of the porcelain tea saucer. “It’s not like Tony hasn’t been keeping up his end of the bargain. He just redesigned SHIELD’s _whole_ fleet, with StarkTech self defense and a dumbed-down version of Jarvis. I heard that Fury liked the new SUV design so much that he kept one of them for his own personal use." 

Loki looked up sharply. “What?”

Pepper shrugged casually, her eyes focused intently on the menu. “You know. It was part of the deal he made to get you released into the custody of the Avengers. Updating SHIELD’s tech. Response vehicles, new helicarrier engine designs, the quinjets, that sort of thing.” She grinned suddenly and met Loki’s eyes over the menu, all teeth and edges. “Fury wanted weapons, of course, but Tony refused.”

Loki fiddled with his teacup, surprised at Pepper’s revelation. Stark had _negotiated_ with SHIELD, using his inventions as collateral, for Loki’s release last summer? He’d assumed it had been one of Asgard’s orders, as part of their terms for allowing Loki to serve his parole on Midgard. He’d thought Fury must have agreed to house the former prince in something ‘benefit of his station’ or the like, and so he had been thrust upon Stark and the Avengers at the tower. But if Stark had acted independently, had acted without Asgard’s interference— 

It certainly did not bode well on Loki’s magic ever being returned, to say the least.

And could this have been the secret project that Tony had become so involved in as of recent? That Tony kept packing up every time Loki ventured down to the workshop? It would make sense; if it were something classified for SHIELD. But the thought left him feeling as though the world had dropped out from beneath him. If it was for SHIELD, why couldn’t Tony tell him? What was the genius hiding? Could Tony have been the one to transmit the virus, using some newfangled device SHIELD demanded he create?

Thank the Norns, the waiter arrived to take their order, interrupting any further discussion, and Loki made sure to direct their conversation afterwards on more pleasant, lighter topics.

He had enough to think about as it was.

 

* * *

He’d returned to the tower alone, with a double insulated to-go cup of the infamous coffee and a French dip sandwich for Stark.

Pepper had pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and rushed off just as soon as she’d paid the bill; she had a meeting on the other side of Manhattan scheduled for early afternoon, and Happy had arrived with her briefcase and the car just as the pair departed the café.

Once inside Stark’s private elevator, Loki selected the workshop floor. He winced as Jarvis slowed the pace of the lift to a crawl. The god could feel the elevator’s vibrations in his legs; after a thousand years of listening to the bifrost, registering the shifts in a human transport was _easy_. Obviously, the genius had returned from his meetings and now didn’t want the trickster to see whatever it was he’d been working on in the mean time. _As usual_.

He sighed, defeated. “Jarvis, cancel that last request,” Loki closed his eyes, fighting down a wave of frustration and anger and burying the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Mr. Lie-smith?” Jarvis prompted.

The elevator was silent around him, the telltale vibrations absent as Loki hovered in the in-between, indecision wracking his frame. The trickster leaned against the wall, letting his forehead rest on the cool metal panel. If Stark didn’t want him there, didn’t want him around in his workshop—well, maybe he didn’t want him around the tower at all. Maybe Stark had reached his fill, maybe he was tired of fucked up Norse deities. Loki snorted. He certainly wasn’t going to embarrass himself again, at least, not any more than he already had.

“Tell him—” Loki cleared his throat and hit the button for the penthouse level, instead. “Tell Stark that his coffee and sandwich are upstairs in the kitchen. If he wants them.”

“Very well, Mr. Lie-smith.”


	40. The white noise of a coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again massive kudos and thanks to [Horns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/pseuds/Horns%20of%20Mischief) for expert literary critique and tweaking of language. 
> 
> Also don't kill the writer if this is the last chapter for a few weeks (I'll try not to, try to get one more out at least before I go, but I'm leaving Wednesday for basically a three-week business trip and things happen).
> 
> Actually, let's just go with don't kill the writer, _period_.

It was another three days before Loki saw Stark again.

He woke up to find the inventor asleep in their bed, grease-stains smudged across his pillow. It was obvious the mortal had only managed to stumble up from his workshop before he passed out. On closer inspection, Loki was relieved to see Stark had at least managed to toe off his boots and jeans, but the formerly pristine sheets were likely ruined from the black smudges visible on Stark’s shirt.

The god huffed, before he quickly showered and dressed for the day. He lost himself in a book after a quick breakfast, when it became clear that Stark wasn’t going to wake any time before noon… if he even bothered to eat before he returned to the workshop.

He turned himself towards the windows, eyes trailing across the white cloud-covered sky into the distance. The forecast called for snow, later that day, and the city seemed almost frozen with dread already. From the dizzying heights of Stark Tower, Loki could see a scattering of wind socks and helicopters ferrying their passengers around the city, over the Hudson and around the tip of Manhattan and back again. There were barges on the river, a few scattered bright colors that the trickster had come to associate with container ships after his car journey with Romanova to the land of New Jersey. But the sky was a static gray, clouds heavy in the sky; waiting.

A hand slipped to his shoulder and Loki turned. Tony had come to sit on the armrest of the chair. He’d changed into jeans and one of his favorite Henley shirts, and his dark hair was still wet from the shower. A coffee mug balanced on his knee.

“Uh, I saw the coffee? And the sandwich. In the kitchen just now,” Stark scratched his neck, nervously, as he traced the rim of his mug with his index finger. He wouldn’t meet Loki’s eyes. “Uh. Thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t come get them. Jarvis said—” Tony sighed. “I meant to. I guess I just lost track of time?”

Loki scowled. “That was three days ago.”

“Dum-E made me smoothies!” Tony protested.

“This isn’t about whether you’ve _eaten_ , Stark,” Loki huffed, pulling away from the inventor’s touch. “If you didn’t insist on hiding whatever little _project_ you’ve been hiding from me for the past month, I would have brought your coffee to the workshop. Or even condescended to read on the couch in that grease-pit. But you’ve made it _abundantly_ clear that I’m no longer welcome in _your_ space.”

“What, and _you’re_ not hiding something?” Stark growled, “You’re sleeping with daggers!”

“I’m not just some _pet_ you can deign to pay attention to when it happens to be _convenient_ for you!” Loki snarled back, his hands clenching so fiercely around his book that the edges bit into his palms.

“Newsflash Loki, it’s not always about _you_!” Tony barked.

Loki looked away, the only sound piercing the heavy atmosphere his harsh breaths as he struggled to master his anger. Whatever he said, it wasn’t worth it, this wouldn’t end well. It didn’t matter that Stark was a hypocrite, that the mortal had taken to sleeping—when he bothered to even come to bed at all—with the homing bracelets. It changed _nothing_ ; the god may no longer be on house arrest in this Norns-forsaken realm, but he had nowhere else to go on Midgard. No money, no family. No friends. The Avengers had been scattered to the wind, shuffled off into their lives elsewhere, as though the past eight months were nothing but an extended holiday. And knowing that one amongst them had likely betrayed him, had made him ill on Fury’s orders— Loki closed his eyes, unable to look at the gray, empty horizon any more.

“Fuck,” Tony finally said, defeated. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this. Can we—Can I start over?”

There was a scraping sound as Stark placed his mug on the coffee table, before the god felt the smaller man shift beside him. Stark moved the book away, before he crammed himself onto the god’s lap, his legs dangling off the side of the small chair. The trickster shifted to accommodate Stark’s weight. A hand circled Loki’s neck, resting at the base of the god’s skull and tangled in his hair. Loki relaxed into the touch. He exhaled, and was surprised when he opened his eyes to see how closely Stark was watching him, their foreheads almost touching. As they studied each other, a faint whimper passed Stark’s lips before he sagged into Loki’s shoulder.

“Let me make it up to you,” Tony whispered. “We’ll go somewhere. Have a date, just the two of us. No phones, no distractions.”

“Jarvis locked you out again, didn’t he?” Loki grumbled, letting his arms come to rest on Stark’s waist as the inventor leaned against him. The weight was comfortable, firm and present, and the inventor smelled of aftershave and cinnamon.

Tony winced, tightening his grip on the god. “Maybe? For twenty-four hours? But it doesn’t matter. I’m done. I swear. I’ll tell you all about it, at the coffee shop.”

“You will?” Loki pulled back to study the engineer’s face. “About what you’ve been working on so secretively?”

“Everything,” Stark confirmed, pressing a gentle kiss to Loki’s lips. “Now get something warmer on than that t-shirt, it’s supposed to snow later.”  

* * *

 

The subway was mercifully not crowded, given the late morning hour, and soon Loki found himself standing in front of a row of modest brownstones, the coffee shop’s black awning nearly hidden by the small evergreen trees growing in front of it. Inside the tall wood-framed windows, he could see a scattering of bar stools and several small round tables with black furnishings.

Tony’s hand found its way to the small of the god’s back, a gentle weight against his spine. “C’mon,” the mortal gave Loki a tiny nod. “I promise you’ll like it. Best coffee in the city, and the staff are laid back.”

“You mean they won’t call the press,” Loki muttered.

“Got it in one, Lokes,” Tony grinned. “Gotta love the East Village. So many celebrities around the area that they’re almost immune to my gorgeous face.”

The coffee shop was cozy inside with a worn, understated charm. Loki found himself mesmerized by the sights and sounds, and the rich aroma. He’d smelled coffee before, but this was something deeper; burnt, almost, with a sugary undertone that overwhelmed his senses as he stepped through the door. The trickster was certain his coat would smell like roasted coffee beans for days.

Tony directed the god to a table for two by the windows, while the mortal took care of their orders. And soon after, Stark approached with two mugs in hand. “Latte for the god of sarcasm,” Tony preened, placing a black mug with the white logo of a coffee cup and saucer printed across the side. He dropped a handful of sugar packets and two spoons on the table, before placing his own black coffee on the table; its contents were deep black-brown, in contrast to the milky-white cream color of Loki’s own coffee.

“This place is sort of a purist establishment,” Stark said as he seated himself, placing his phone on the table beside his coffee mug. “Best beans in the city, roasted to perfection on site, and they only serve espresso drinks. No caramel macchiato crap.”

Loki hummed as he tore open several sugar packets and stirred his latte. When the mortal reached for his phone, the god said, “I thought we agreed no distractions?”

Tony picked up the device, making a show of flipping it on silent before placing it face down on the table in between their respective mugs. “See? It’s off. I’m all yours, sweetie-poo.”

Loki ignored the ridiculous nickname, hiding a smirk behind his coffee mug. For a few moments the pair were occupied with their drinks, both leaning back to watch the shop’s various patrons filtering in, against the hum of activity around them.

“It’s snowing,” Tony remarked, leaning towards the window.

Loki looked out, surprised to see big wet flakes clumping together into piles on the sidewalk already. “So it is.”

Tony’s phone suddenly vibrated, a loud rattling noise against the table. Stark scowled as he reached for it. “It’s on silent, I swear,” he mumbled, pressing a button to turn the screen off again. “Jarvis,” the engineer muttered quietly, “No calls, no distractions. They can leave a message, I’m busy.”

The silence stretched on, and Loki was loath to ruin the comfortable atmosphere. But when he’d consumed half of his beverage, the god cleared his throat. “So…” he said.

“Right,” Tony looked at his coffee, as though the black liquid had all the answers.

“You want to know what I’ve been working on.” As the inventor looked up, his phone rang again. His incredulous expression turned murderous moments later as he silenced it once more, only for his phone to sound again before Tony could even place it on the table. “Damn it,” Tony muttered, throwing an apologetic look in Loki’s direction. “I’m sorry, Jarvis must be overriding it. Do you mind?” 

The god rolled his eyes but waved dismissively for him to go on. 

Tony put the phone to his ear. “This better be good, Jarvis, or I’m donating you—Pepper? What? No, I’m out with Loki—Steve? A fugitive? That doesn’t even make sense, he’s only been in DC for a month. What’d he do, steal the Declaration of Independence or—What? Are you sure? _Fuck_.” Tony placed his mug on the table. The inventor’s startled expression worried the god, and Loki leaned over the table, staring intently at Stark, as though he could listen in to the conversation if he tried hard enough.

Then Stark’s wide eyes met his, and Loki felt his stomach drop.

“How long do we have?” Stark whispered into the phone, as his fearful gaze turned to scan the coffee shop. “We’re—That’s not enough time to—son of a bitch. Okay, call Bruce, tell him too. We’re moving now. You too, be careful.” Stark surged to his feet, abandoning his coffee mug on the table. “Come on Lo.”

Loki followed the engineer outside, tucking into his coat as he hurried to keep up with Stark’s quick pace. The inventor had hurried off, away from the subway station. Somehow in their quick departure, Stark had pulled his hood up high around his face and dug his sunglasses out of his coat pocket; Loki rushed to do the same.

After a few blocks, Tony turned, keeping his pace quick as he glanced around them every few moments.

“I take it we’re being pursued?” Loki whispered, catching Stark’s arm in his, the god’s long stride lengthening to keep up with the mortal’s frantic pace. 

“Something like that,” Tony muttered, suddenly pulling Loki into a short alley way and pressing the taller man back into the shadows, behind a garbage bin.

Footsteps hurried past on the sidewalk, on the street they’d just left, in a rapid beat. Loki’s eyes widened as he counted, one, two, three, four, maybe more, moving in quick succession together. _Military._ He caught Tony’s eye, and the mortal nodded slowly. Absently, as though he was watching a movie on Stark’s big screen, Loki realized that Tony’s hands were shaking.

_“_ Jarvis, you listening in?” Tony whispered into his wrist as the footsteps faded into the distance. “We’re too late, can’t make that rendezvous point. Send Daddy some rides.”

Tony hefted himself up, and leapt for the ladder dangling just above his reach. On his second failed attempt, Loki reached up instead and tugged, hard. The ladder clattered down, shaking snow around them.

“Go, go, go!” Tony chanted quietly, and Loki took the ladder rungs two at a time, Stark close on his heels as they ascended. The snow bit into his palms and fingers as he climbed, and he could hear Stark’s rapid breathing behind him on each level platform before the ladder took them higher again, as the mortal’s lungs wheezed from the strain.

Six stories up, Loki pulled himself over the edge of the building, onto the roof. He reached down to help Stark. The mortal was winded but determined, as he quickly knelt in the snow beside the god, a hand on his chest as he huffed.

A sound drew Stark’s attention, and Loki looked up, following his line of sight. There—across the roof, stood a door. The stairs, from inside the building. The doorknob jiggled again.

“Sir, I recommend you take cover,” Jarvis’s voice was tinny from Tony’s pocket. “This building’s locks are remotely controlled by a local security firm, but my interference will not last.”

Loki pulled the mortal to his feet, and together they rushed to duck behind the water tanks. Crouched behind the twin structures, Loki cursed as he looked back over the roof; their tracks were clearly visible in the new-fallen snow, a twin pair of black footprints in the light scattering of white. But it was too late now, as the door to the stairway burst open and men spilled forth, dressed in black and armed to the teeth.

“Ten,” Loki whispered, peeking through an eyelet between the tank housing. He looked over to see the metal railing from the fire escape shaking ominously. “More on the way.”

“We know you’re here, Stark!” a voice called out. “Just give us the prisoner, and you can go!” 

Loki’s heart raced. That voice, it sounded familiar. Someone he’d heard before, when he was—Someone from SHIELD, but not Fury. Not Hill. They’d changed their mind, then, had come for him anyway. Loki watched in horror as another ten men crested the fire escape, and the soldiers fanned out to encircle the roof. A man pointed to their footsteps in the snow. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” the voice taunted.

“Jarvis, ETA?” Tony muttered beside him.

A metallic-sounding voice responded “Less than a minute, Sir.”

Loki blanched. This was it. Either he surrendered, or Stark—the idiot who had apparently gotten them trapped up high on a roof without an escape plan—he might get hurt. These humans, Loki knew, they could _hurt_ him, but if the others hadn’t lied, had told the truth about Asgard’s terms for Loki’s parole on Midgard—maybe he had a chance, maybe Heimdall was watching, and if Loki was in danger, maybe they’d return his seidr, let the god protect himself. Protect Stark.

For surely if Stark tried to suit up here, in plain view of these men with their guns, the soldiers would fire before he had the chance.

He made to stand up, but Stark’s hand caught his wrist. Loki looked down, wearily. “You know there is no other way, Tony,” he looked out in the distance; the sky was cloudy and clear as far as he could see, Stark Tower a dark icon in the distance. “There’s no way you can suit up before they shoot at you. Shoot _you_. They won’t kill me, not at first.”

“No,” Tony shook his head, “Loki, don’t.”

Loki looked away, unable to watch his lover’s face any longer. “I’m sorry, Tony,” Loki muttered. “I won’t let you—”

Tony’s fingers encircled the trickster’s wrist, and Loki inhaled sharply, before he jerked away as cool metal met his skin. He looked down, expecting to see the magical cuffs Thor had once enchained him, after New York. Figures, Tony would be carrying them, probably at SHIELD’s request, would offer him up on a platter to his soon-to-be-captors like a dog to—

He blinked. 

Stark had snapped a metal bracelet on his arm, similar to the ones he wore that controlled and synced with the Iron Man suit. The mortal made grabbing motions at the god’s other wrist, and Loki, dumbfounded, extended his arm for Stark to attach the second one.

Suddenly the familiar sound of repulsors whined above them, and Loki ducked, pulling Tony down with him as gunfire rang out. For what felt like a long time to Loki’s too-sensitive mortal ears, the rooftop was filled with nothing but the sound of bullets flying and repulsor blasts interchanged, as the two men huddled down behind the water tanks. But then it was silent again and two Iron man suits, one a distinctive red and gold and the other one, taller, gold and green, settled onto the rooftop behind them.

Tony peeked up. “Jarvis? Safe for us to suit up?”

“The present threat is neutralized, Sir, but there are more on the way. I am attempting to scramble their communications.”

“Thanks J,” Tony yanked the god to his feet and shoved him towards the green-colored suit, pulling off Loki’s outer coat as he did. “Just stand there, Jarvis will do the rest,” Tony ordered. “And don’t move, you don’t want to get pinched anywhere. Not fun.”

“Stark!” Loki called as the suit began to form around him, first his legs and hips and then the cold metal surrounding his back and shoulders. “Tony!?” Loki cried again. 

“Just a second, Princess!” Tony had shed his own coat, shoving his phone into a front pocket as he extended his arms. The red-gold suit seemed to swallow him from behind, meshing around his skin and bones like a perfectly formed glove, the helmet sliding into place over Tony’s head just as the faceplate to his own suit clicked into place.

In the distance, Loki heard footsteps on the stairs, amplified by the suit, and readings that fed across the helmet’s screen. The god gasped in surprise, swiveling his head in various directions as the readings filtered through, calculations of distance, classifications of buildings and people, cellular data, all overwhelming and loud.

“Can you hear me, Lokes?” a voice sounded in his helmet, and the god turned. Iron Man stood at his elbow, a cautious hand extended towards Loki. The trickster tried to nod, which must have worked since the screen moved up and down.

“Okay, good,” Tony’s voice rang out again. “Gonna have to let Jarvis do the flying on this one, since we didn’t have time to do a tutorial yet.”

“This?” Loki managed, bringing up his armor-clad arm to study the gauntlet on his wrist; what at first looked to be separate panels of gold and green revealed to be an effect of the metallic sheen that faded between green and gold depending on the angle of the light. “ _This_ is what you’ve been—” 

“Yes,” Tony said simply. “Talk later, time to fly. Jarvis, get us outta here.”

The suit arm snapped down, and Loki watched in helpless fascination and horror as Tony took off, and his own suit’s repulsors fired too, leaving the New York city skyline far behind.


	41. Blowing Bubbles

“I’ve lived for a thousand years,” Loki grumbled, careful to not let his elbows rest against the sticky mess of the dingy tabletop, “And this will _officially_ be the stupidest thing I have ever done. More ridiculous even than the time Thor tried to invade _Alfheim_ , of all realms, after a night of drinking.”

“Liar,” Tony quipped. “I’ve met Thor; that guy doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together. If he tried to invade drunk,” the mortal waved a dismissive hand, “Elf-land, or whatever, then you had something to do with it.”

Loki let his lips curl, a hint of a smirk. “It _was_ rather amusing.”

“Ha!” Tony grinned. The genius had unfolded a napkin so he could cross his arms against the table surface, and he lazily twirled his soda straw between two fingers. “So just try it. Where’s your sense of adventure, Lo-Lo?”

“Lost in New York,” the god murmured, poking at his half-eaten hamburger. “Along with my appetite.“

“Still not gonna change my mind, Snowflake.” Tony’s expression was apologetic yet determined.

Loki swirled the red straw, watching as dark circles twisted across the surface. _Chocolate milk_ , Tony had called it. The waitress had given the engineer an odd look when he’d ordered for the pair, _two beers, two burgers, and a chocolate milk with a straw for his friend_. But in the end, she’d left them alone, and didn’t seem to recognize Stark…

The diner itself looked as ancient as their waitress, like something the Captain had described with yellowed counters and checkered flooring, quaint outfits in a hideously faded teal blue that clashed against the background blues and reds. A red and white flag hung outside, and the woman who had brought their food had a strange lilt to her tone, as though when she spoke she rolled her vowels against her tongue instead of just spitting them out.

Hours before, after they’d left New York heading north first, then south, and west, and so many directions Loki had lost track once the sun had begun to set, Tony’s voice had echoed inside Loki’s suit, telling the god that they’d stop soon in one of these flyover states, take a break and regroup.

And Loki had merely nodded, unable to move the suit still controlled by Jarvis.

It was uncomfortable, yes, to let the construct control his flight; but the sound of bullets ricocheting off the metal before the pair had fled New York was not something Loki would soon forget.

He still had questions. _So_ many questions. But as Tony had flipped the suits into small metal packages smaller than Loki though possible, then had Jarvis guide the miniaturized jetpacks into a crevice in the trees just out of sight from the forest floor, Loki couldn’t bring himself to ask then.

Instead, he had locked fingers with Tony. It was too cold, in the darkness of some strange forest with mountains on all sides; their coats lost to the rooftop of New York and only their thin sweaters for warmth as the pair trudged down an old logging trail towards the lights in the distance. The name of the place had escaped him. Hilldon or Langdon or something or another, but their indirect flight path had taken hours and hours and the god’s stomach had curled with hunger and fear by the time Tony shoved open the door to the small diner, the only place still open for business.

Loki grimaced. He brought the straw to his lips finally, and blew. Bubbles splattered up from the surface in quick succession, popping against his nose and lips. “There?” Loki wiped a hand down his chin. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” Tony agreed, dropping a few bills on the table for the waitress. “Now we can leave.” 

* * *

It was quiet in the air, the rush of wind and repulsors firing almost silent inside the suit, Loki’s neck craned in an unnatural position as he blasted after Tony in the night sky. The genius’s own rockets were faint orange dots in the distance, close enough to see but far enough away that, as Jarvis had explained, their shockwaves would dissipate without creating an echoing boom that would reverberate for those on the ground.

Before they’d taken off again, Tony had called Rhodey, had spent several minutes discussing air traffic patters across the Pacific Northwest as Loki had paced nearby with short, quick steps. Tony watched him with undisguised concern.

But then Tony had hung up, after wishing Rhodey luck. He’d sounded hurried, his breaths were too quick, too rapid.

“Stark,” Loki touched the mortal’s shoulder. “Is Rhodey—“

“It’s fine,” Tony replied too quickly. “He’s fine. It’s going to be fine.”

Loki had nodded, stretching his arms out as Tony kick-started the suit’s activation. It was a lie, a bad one, but Loki wasn’t going to call him on it.

Pepper wasn’t returning Tony’s calls. He’d tried to reach her, just after they’d landed in the forest, and again, when they’d retrieved their suits after. Jarvis said she’d left the tower shortly after Tony and Loki had lifted off from the roof, and she’d disappeared inside an unmarked town car outside of Stark Industries. The AI had attempted to trace the car’s plates, to track its location in the city, to no avail.

And the pair had suited up quietly; Loki marveled at how the suit moved over his clothes to encompass his form for a second time, now without soldiers and guns surrounding them. In the dark the green metallic sheen looked almost black, with the muted yellow of the golden accents appearing painted on, unnaturally delicate for something with so much power.

The Earth below was dotted with lights every now and then as a town or freeway swam into view, black and mute and so far away. He wasn’t afraid of heights; no, Thor had been too much of an ass in their youth for Loki to not quickly get over any fears he’d harbored. But it was unnerving, the distance and space surrounding them, as he flew in Stark’s wake against the horizon. Darkness had well and truly settled around them, and with it, Tony’s flight-path had evened out; no more were they dodging left and right, up and down to avoid radar screens or satellite feeds.

The pair swerved to the right, with Tony suddenly flying beside him over a bright stretch of land left of their flight path, lights that angled upward from what even from this distance appeared to be a spinning, angular building lit up against the night sky. The city was color and sound and warmth, with fierce blues and reds and yellows rising up from the earth, echoing against the clouds.

“That’s Seattle,” Tony’s voice echoed inside Loki’s helmet. “Best coffee in the States. We’ll come visit when—” Tony made a choked noise, his words tapering off abruptly.

“Pepper has not made contact?” Loki ventured, cringing at the metallic echo of his voice against his helmet.

“She’s smart, she's okay,” Tony grunted, turning again. “She has to be.”

Loki’s suit made to follow, and the god watched a trail of smaller lights and roads below; a series of islands, empty and vast, and then, nothing. They flew lower, suddenly, mere feet above the water and through what Loki could only glimpse of two smaller land masses that parted at the edges of a harbor, mountainous and vast, to give way to an open-mouthed maw of waves and salt and wind that buffeted into their suits as they cleared the protected harbor.

He could smell the salt as they neared the sea, even through the artificially filtered air of the suit. The sky was dark and empty from this distance, only the very tips of the waves occasionally reflecting what little light bounced off the cloudy, moonless sky.

They skimmed the waves for a little longer, until they were some distance from the shore, before the pair suddenly angled skyward, climbing again above the clouds.

The darkness was overwhelming, an empty sky with flecks of stars and space above them, and Loki could only stare below, the empty gray-black of clouds against a dark sky, barely reflective of light and sound around them in the starlight.

Loki closed his eyes, willing his breath to slow. He knew, he _knew_ , this was _Midgard_. The land had ended but continued round, they were above one of Midgard’s oceans, the bigger one, the one that stretched endlessly beyond the borders of this puny nation that Stark called home—Midgard was _round_ , they’d not fallen from its edges, this darkness was not the void, was not _empty_ —

“Sir?” a voice echoed in the background. “Mr. Lie-smith?”

Loki snapped his eyes open, wide and apprehensive, only to find two comforting red-orange dots again on the horizon, flying closer this time and weaving in and out of the clouds with bursts of childish speed.

“Jarvis,” Loki sighed.

“Your heart rate is elevated, Mr. Lie-smith. Do I need to alert Sir?”

“No,” Loki managed. “Don't.”

He let himself sag into the suit, his shoulders and neck surprisingly stiff from holding himself so tightly just moments before. The red-gold suit hesitated in front of him, as though Jarvis had told his creator anyway, and a curse for the meddling construct was on his lips before Stark turned abruptly, hidden suddenly by cloud-cover before he reappeared on Loki’s left. 

“Not far now, Lokes,” Tony’s voice rang out in the darkness, so close, as though the mortal was inside the suit with him. “You doin’ okay in there? Not claustrophobic or anything?”

“It is nothing,” the god swallowed, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. 

“You sure? Jarvis said—” 

“Jarvis is a menace,” Loki grumbled. “I’m fine.”

“ _Italian Job_ fine?” the genius quipped, flying in short circles around Loki.

“I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, Stark.”

“Never mind,” Tony’s voice was more subdued now, as though Loki’d reminded the engineer of something. He felt momentarily lost, like the alien that he was, before Stark continued, “We’re far enough out we can fly closer together now.” 

Stark turned again, and this time Loki’s suit flew in sync with the shorter red one, close enough that Loki could study the lines of the red suit in the faint light echoing off Stark’s repulsors. The metal looked denser, heavier than the iridescent green of Loki’s own. He filed it away, another question for a later time.

The clouds parted below, starlight reflecting in gentle patterns across the rough seas; Loki thought he saw a light occasionally, a bobbing white or blue or yellow against the vast ocean, before they moved past it, too fast to register anything more than the faintest impressions of life below.

“We’ll be okay for a little bit, but we should stay in international waters until we know what’s going on,” Tony observed, but Loki wasn’t sure if the comment had been directed at him or not.

He felt numb. As though so much had changed so quickly, again, that he no longer knew which direction to take. As Tony prattled on again, something about radars and the cloud cover dissipating, they turned again to avoid coastline to their right, and Loki felt himself sagging into the hold of the suit. He tried to shake himself awake in the little room he had to maneuver, but it had been so long, so many hours since he’d last slept. Since he’d relaxed at all. 

And to think that he’d started the morning in New York, convinced that Stark had tired of him, had tired of taking care of him. He’d laugh at the absurdity, clad in this metallic abomination and flying even faster than Thor ever could, cackle at his own naivety and shock, if he weren’t certain that Stark would fear the god had truly gone over the edge this time. 

The day felt so heavy against his eyelids, and the god felt his eyes close more than he willed it. Loki let himself drift, as the suits turned again, Tony’s voice a comfortable drone in the background.

It was light and space and warmth, in that metal cocoon of Stark’s creation. For a moment it was alright. Tony was there, a fierce presence beside him, and whatever else had gone wrong that day, whatever words remained unsaid, Loki was safe for now. He imagined the two orange dots dancing around him, circling him from a distance, like gravity pulling in a satellite closer and closer, until the inevitable, until it fell from the sky, crashed into the sun, spiraling out of control—

He startled awake suddenly, groggy and incoherent, only to realize that he couldn’t move, couldn’t turn his head at all, and that the suit had started a rapid descent. The feeling of falling was familiar, poisonous and vapid. A small white speck blinked into existence below, materializing in the center of nothingness, as though it was beckoning him forward, promising salvation, an end to it all—

That Tony too had angled to descend was the only thing that kept Loki from panic as the dot grew larger against the outline of the waves, until Loki could see a sleek silver yacht with Stark’s name emblazoned in bold letters across the stern of the ship.


	42. Meeting someone famous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You best be thankin' [Horns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/pseuds/Horns%20of%20Mischief) for there being an update today, because I have a bad cold and made lots of stupid little mistakes (and some stupid big mistakes), and if it wasn't for her, this would definitely not be up today. Or it'd be up, but terrible. You know what I mean. Shut up, or I'll sneeze on you.

The dark blue of the ocean stretched on for miles against the cobalt sky, endless and empty as the horizon, and yet… peaceful.

Loki reached out a finger to stroke the window; the picture quivered beneath his touch, a projection screen, like those in the bedrooms in New York. Fabricating a perfect copy of the outside view, but without actually creating the structural weakness of windows.

The screens surrounded the bed on three sides, so that the custom-designed bedroom seemed to float out in the sea, the edges of the bed meshed with the waves and water and sky The god rolled over, letting the sheets fall lower as he pillowed his head on his hands and looked out, into the distance. He could almost forget everything, forget where he was and why, with the fine illusion  of water lapping against the projected screen.

The god groaned, burying his face in his hands. Vague memories washed over him, solidifying as sleep fell away. He remembered hazy impressions  from when he and Stark had first arrived the night before.

Loki remembered how his stomach had twisted in fear, the sensation of falling overwhelming him as the suit had angled downward, only to right itself mere feet above the deck and gently settle to the wood planks. He remembered how boneless he’d felt after. How his legs couldn’t support him, when the suit released him from its grasp. How Tony had shouted his name in distress, the fear and panic coloring his voice as he’d coaxed the god to stand. Then, short fingers dug into the god’s shoulders, the fierce hold warm and reassuring. He remembered how his heart seemed to want to beat its way from his chest, as he’d clutched onto Tony’s shorter form. As he slumped into Tony’s grasp.

Loki rubbed a tired hand over his eyes; his cheeks felt warm, flushed to the touch. 

They’d sat there in the cold wind, until Loki had recovered, had managed to drag Tony upward with him. And Tony, the shorter man had pulled Loki after him, half dragging the god towards a concealed corridor, until the pair had landed inside a triangular room with a large bed and darkened windows on all sides.

Loki sat up, glancing around the room. There, draped over a chair in the corner, sat the god’s trousers and sweater; his discarded shoes underneath. Tony’s own shoes stood nearby, but the engineer’s jeans were gone.

“Jarvis?” Loki queried.

“I am here, Mr. Lie-Smith.”

Loki let out a shaky exhale, relief flooding his senses. “Is Tony—?” the god hesitated. The genius probably had a workshop on this floating fortress. Had he already disappeared into the bowels of the ship? “Is he working—”

“Sir is lounging by the pool,” Jarvis interrupted. “And he asked that I inform you of his whereabouts when you awoke, and that Sir has left a smoothie for you in the kitchen freezer, down the corridor to your immediate right. Straight after the kitchen is the passageway to the outside decks.”

Loki padded with quiet steps across the floor; the wood was smooth and warm beneath his feet, something tropical. “It is not cold outside?” 

“Sir directed a southern route last night; we are nearing the island chains known as Hawaii _._ The climate is quite mild, in this part of the world.”

Loki hummed, leaving his sweater behind. He poured himself the remains of the smoothie then, after a moment of hesitation, grabbed a banana as well, before his quick steps carried him outside into the warm sunshine.

The air was warm, but comfortable; not humid like other realms he’d ventured to, but moist and with an easy breeze along the horizon. He shielded his eyes, squinting in the sunlight to see Tony, a level below him, stretched out on a white lounger beside a sunken azure-blue pool. The mortal’s skin after what at most could have only been a few hours in the sun was a warm brown, almost golden in the sunlight. Stark’s eyes were closed, his breath even and measured; he looked so peaceful, resting in the sun, that Loki was hesitant to disturb him.

The god turned to find a quiet, shaded spot just behind the railing, with lounge chairs and a net-like hanging seat swinging lightly between two wooden posts. To his right, the sea stretched on for miles.

He ate the banana first in quick, hungry bites, swallowing quickly as a thought occurred to him. “Jarvis, has Pepper made contact yet?”

Below, Tony twitched in his sleep, his movements troubled, almost as though he could hear Loki’s query.

“Not yet, Mr. Lie-Smith.” Jarvis replied, his response hushed. As though the construct didn’t want to disturb the sleep of its maker. “You should also know that Doctor Banner has disappeared from his conference in Sweden; his mobile device has be deactivated.”

“Why would he—”

“Video surveillance suggests a strike team similar to that sent after you and Sir surrounded Doctor Banner’s hotel,” Jarvis interrupted. Loki covered his flinch by taking a sip of the smoothie. “However, Sir does not believe they managed to capture Doctor Banner; there are no reports of the Hulk in Sweden, and the strike team appeared to leave empty-handed.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Loki muttered. On the deck below, Tony’s movements had grown agitated, sharp. The genius’s shoulders were taunt, but his chest didn’t constrict, hands weren’t bundled into tight fists. It wasn’t water, then. Not falling, either. Something else that plagued the mortal’s dreams. Something _new_.

He collected his empty drink with a sigh, and moved down the stairs two at a time, bare feet warmed by the wood deck. “Stark,” he murmured as he approached, taking care to let his footfalls echo in dull slaps across the wood surface as he approached. “ _Tony_.”

The mortal flinched, violently, so hard that he almost rolled off the lounger, before startled brown eyes blinked up at the sun. Loki lowered himself to sit beside Tony, stretching an arm across the mortal’s torso as he leaned forward, casting his shadow over the shorter man’s face. The heat on Loki’s back was warm and inviting; alluring.

“I fell asleep?” Tony mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Hey Lokes. Oh,” Tony touched the rim of the empty glass. “Y’found the smoothie.”

Loki felt a gentle smile curling his lip as Tony scrubbed a hand through his unruly hair, before the shorter man struggled to sit up. The god leaned away, until Stark had managed to right himself and put his feet on the deck beside Loki’s, scruffy chin half-resting on the god’s shoulder as the engineer blinked his way coherent.

“Jarvis told me about Bruce,” the god said casually. “And Pepper. Have you heard from the others?”

Tony exhaled, before squaring his shoulders. “Tried Nat and Rogers too, little while ago. Nothing. They’ve deactivated their phones, sims gone, the whole nine yards.” Tony tried to shrug, as though he wasn’t worried. “There was some big explosion on an old base in New Jersey that Jarvis thinks they had something to do with; where Steve did basic training, apparently. It’s all over the news.” Tony snorted. “Official story is some training exercise gone wrong, of course.”

“Is anything ever _actually_ a training exercise in this realm?” Loki huffed. Tony shrugged, almost hunching in on himself, and Loki at once wished he’d not tried to lighten the mood. He entwined his fingers with Stark’s, letting his thumb rub a careful circle over the calloused spot on Tony’s wrist, where the silver gauntlet rested. “What else?”

The engineer shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Not—It’s—It’s fine.”

“Liar,” Loki said.

“That’s usually my line,” Tony twisted his shoulders to squint at Loki in the sunlight.

“If the shirt fits…” the god shrugged.

This time Tony did laugh, a pained chuckle. “Shoe, you alien. If the _shoe_ fits.”

Loki smiled down at the shorter man; Tony’s brown eyes were almost golden in the sunlight, like little amber mirrors reflecting the blue sky back at the god. His gaze flitted to Tony’s mouth, still quirked in the barest of smiles, his worry and amusement melded into one fragile expression. He looked as though the slightest of winds could destroy everything, but Tony was sturdy. Sturdy and strong, and not alone. Not this time.

“Tell me,” the god ordered. “Tell me what you know. And show me how to use the suit. Whatever’s happening, I won’t be unprepared next time.” Loki grimaced. “You won’t be _alone_ next time.”

“Pepper told you about the Mandarin, didn’t she,” Tony huffed a frustrated sigh.

“Perhaps,” Loki conceded. “But I’m not weak, even in this form. I’m not _weak_ , and I’m _nobody’s_ plaything. Not for Thanos’s entertainment, nor Doom’s, or even Fury’s. I won’t sit idly by this time, hoping you’ll survive. Even without my strength or my seidr, I’m _not_ weak. _Tell me_.” 

Tony nodded once, before he stood. “Come on,” he exhaled, defeated. “I owe you a crash course on the suit anyway. Plus you can see the news reports that Jarvis found. Apparently some big fight went down on the streets while we were flying across the country.”

“News reports?” Loki followed quickly as the mortal wound his way inside, blinking at the darkness after the bright sunlight. Stark turned down a new corridor, away from the kitchen and living quarters, then descended a short staircase. “There shouldn’t be _news_ of SHIELD, I thought they were a secret—”

“Apparently not. Or not anymore,” Tony interrupted, his bare feet slapping in loud echoes on the white steps in quick, sharp movements that forced Loki to lengthen his stride. “Something’s wrong. Something with SHIELD. I don’t know what, but the news— Steve’s picture is being shown everywhere, they’re saying he’s a traitor—” Tony pressed his palm to a door panel, and a blue light flashed, the scanner passing over his fingertips. It beeped once. “And some scary dude with a _metal arm_ , just saw him completely rip apart one of _my_ SUVs, like he was opening a can of sardines—” Tony turned, grabbing Loki’s wrist. “Here, put your hand there—fingers out, yeah.”

“The SUV you made Fury?” Loki questioned, as he let Tony press his hand into the cool surface of the touchscreen panel; the light activated again, this time giving three short beeps.

“Maybe,” Tony grunted. “Can’t tell from the video.”

The workshop door slid open, letting a rush of cool air into the warm corridor. “Jarvis, Give Lokes full access, admin level. Here and back home.” He turned towards the taller man. “No more secrets.”

The god’s eyes widened, as he turned to take in the room. It was smaller than Tony’s workshop at the tower, but in the corner stood a replica version of the miniature HERB-finder, scaled down into a backpack Herbie just like the one they’d left behind. Except this one’s backpack was dark green, the same metallic sheen as the suit.

To the left of the Herbie monitoring screens were the two suits, red and green beside each other, with some minor pieces and parts scattered on the table before them. A small pile of bullets stood on one corner of the table, and Loki shuddered, not realizing the scale of the extensive repairs Tony had undertaken on the suits already.

The green color of the metal was more noticeable under the lab’s bright fluorescent lights, and Loki stopped before it to finger four smaller holsters on the left forearm that he hadn’t noticed the night before. He paced around the suit, noticing another two gaps on each calf, and another larger holder across the suit’s left shoulder.

“You like it?” Tony said beside him. “Your ceramic knives will fit the wrist and calf holders; I was having Jarvis make a larger blade for the shoulder. Something more dagger-like than throwing.” Stark looked away suddenly. “It’s back at the tower.”

“What is this metal?” Loki ran a long finger down the suit’s chest piece, tracing the arch of gold across the front. Tony had replicated the look of his armor, with a gold semblance across the front over the black-green metal. As he moved around the suit, the color shifted, ethereal. “This Herbie, it’s of the same metal? Like the Iron Man suit?”

“Well, sort of,” Tony moved to a nearby screen, perching on a rolling chair as he tapped a few keys opening a file. He gave the taller man a wide grin as a projection materialized over a nearby holotable. A three-dimensional figure composed of green light and smooth edges rotated in quick movements over the flat surface of the table. Loki watched in keen fascination as the figure dodged and twisted, feinted again, and turned to forcefully mock stab an imaginary opponent, before spiraling away.

“What is this?” Loki whispered. “This fighting style, this looks—”

“Familiar?” Tony interjected. “It’s you.” He waved a hand and the figure shifted again. “Well, not _you_ you, obviously. I had Jarvis take data-points from how you moved when sparring with Rogers and Romanoff; from those I could calculate flexibility, joint fusion and movements, maneuverability for fight, you get the idea.”

The green figure dematerialized, and Loki turned to look at Stark. The genius had kicked up his feet on the edge of the holotable as he manipulated something between his fingers, a small laser welder in his other hand, stubbornly not looking at the god. His cheeks were tinged pink, and the way his shoulders were set, made Loki think that the mortal was somehow embarrassed.

“I don’t understand,” Loki managed after a moment, an uncomfortable pressure rising in his throat. “What does this have to do with the metal? Are you saying—” Loki swallowed, “You made the suit to mimic my _fighting_ style?”

Tony grinned sheepishly. “And they say I’m the smart one. The metal’s special too. Lighter than the Iron Man suit for maneuverability, and non-magnetic, so Doom can go _fuck_ himself next time. Also non-conductive, won’t carry current or be harmed by it.”

Loki sat on the table, wearily. “I thought you just made one of your _normal_ suits to fit my height, not—not—not _this_.”

“I know, I know,” Tony kicked down his feet and wheeled himself over, settling between the god’s knees; he rested his elbows on Loki’s thighs, a smirk on his lips but the engineer’s expression was hesitant. “Normal boyfriends buy flowers or jewelry or something.”

“But why _hide_ it then? Why not—” Loki bit his lip, the hurt and rage still raw. It didn’t matter _now_ , did it? The weeks spent thinking that Tony was ignoring him, when in reality the engineer was busy crafting the finest armor that he’d ever seen. Loki sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Tony murmured, resting his forehead against the god’s sternum. “I was—it was stupid. If SHIELD knew—you were still on house arrest, and I wanted to give you what the United States military classifies as a _weapon of mass destruction_ ,” Tony huffed a bitter laugh, as Loki dragged a careful hand through the engineer’s short hair. “And besides, somehow, that nutjob Doom found out about you, when _supposedly_ only SHIELD knew you were on Earth. How did _Doom_ find out, then, huh?”

“Doom?” Loki hissed, surprised. “You’ve been working on this since—since—” Loki gaped at the man, “since before the New Year.”

“Actually since Doom’s first attack,” Tony corrected, his face unusually somber as he leaned back to stare at the god. “Started sketching the designs then, looking at alloys. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Lokes, but you’re kinda human right now. Pepper almost _died_ last summer because of me.” The engineer blinked, his eyes suddenly wet as he looked away, fingers drumming a nervous tap on the god’s hip. “Hell, Yinsen _did_ die because of me. I can’t lose you, Lokes. I _can’t_.”

Loki put a finger beneath Tony’s chin, lifting the mortal’s face upward again, until he could peer into Stark’s dark eyes, opened so wide and vulnerable. He ran a gentle thumb across the man’s cheek, wiping away the moisture. “You won’t,” Loki murmured. “I swear it.”

“Pretty words from a pretty mouth, but I’d prefer if you learned how to use the suit.” Tony gave him a watery smile.

Loki hummed then leaned forward, capturing the mortal’s lips against his own. Stark was hesitant, at first, warm and too careful for Loki’s needs. The god nipped at Tony’s lower lip, pulling the shorter man closer, out of his chair.

Suddenly the engineer’s mouth was fire and heat, as his tongue darted forward against Loki’s, tasting, teasing, equally possessive and giving. Tony pushed the god backward, into the holotable, almost lifting Loki onto the screen surface as he melded his shape against the taller man’s form. Loki barked an amused sound, before Stark deepened the kiss again, fighting for space and heat and air. It was want and fear and helplessness, all wrapped and warped into one moment, and Loki clung to his little mortal, long arms wrapped tightly around the engineer’s shoulders as the smaller man leaned forward.

Calloused fingers danced across the god’s back, tugging at his shirt and waistband. Loki complied, lifting his arms so Stark could tug the hem of the god’s shirt upward and over the god’s head. Then heat spread over his neck, where Stark’s lips and tongue began trailing a feverish path down the god’s skin. Tony let his hands tangle in Loki’s too-long hair, pulling the god’s head back to expose the ivory skin of his throat, then pressed his lips to the curve of the god’s jawline.

Loki let his hand trail around the edge of Stark’s jeans, long fingers dipping beneath the waistband. He tugged at the thin elastic just below the rim— “Tony—” Loki gasped when the inventor’s teeth grazed over his neck. Stark was _eager_ , by the Nine, and Loki wasn’t sure he’d last much longer if the infuriating man didn’t _stop_ with—Oh Norns!

“Tony—” the god gasped again when Stark managed to open Loki’s trousers one-handed, and he arched into the mortal’s grasp, everything falling away but the pressure on his dick and the wet trail of Stark’s lips, nipping at his throat, sucking a patch just below the god’s chin, and—

“Terribly sorry Sir,” Jarvis chimed, “but you have an incoming call on the secure line.”

Tony groaned in frustration, his grip loosening immediately as the engineer leaned, against the god’s chest. Loki huffed an amused, pained noise; Tony looked a treat, his lips red and puffy, dark hair tousled in all directions.

“Better not be a false alarm, you cock-blocking asshole,” the engineer muttered, pulling away. “Because your timing sucks.”

“Shall I tell Ms. Potts you are otherwise occupied?”

“What? It’s Pepper?!” Tony exclaimed, leaning down to retrieve Loki’s shirt. “No, no, put her through!” He tossed the shirt towards the god.

“Very well,” Jarvis sounded smug for an artificial life form. “Initiating the connection now.”

Loki stood, making himself presentable beside Tony, watching the smaller man make nervous movements as he waited for the call to connect.

A click sounded through the lab, before a tentative voice rang out. “Tony?”

“ _Pepper_ ,” Tony breathed, like a prayer. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Pepper said. Her tone was stiff, out of place against the vivid grays and blacks of Tony’s workshop. “I’m in a safe-house." There was a tapping noise, like nails on a table, and Tony’s spine went rigid.

“Any news? What’s going on?” Tony said instead, injecting a joviality into his tone that Loki couldn’t understand, as the man’s fingers came up to tap a nervous pattern on his arc reactor. “When can we come home?”

“No news,” she said, followed by a few nervous-sounding taps. “There was some excitement in Washington, but it’s all quiet now.”

“Good, enjoy your vacation, Miss Potts. What about my lab?”

Pepper huffed a nervous laugh. “Still sealed tight, as far as I know.”

“I regret to inform you, sir, that I’ve failed to comply with a duly executed warrant,” Jarvis added, a small red mute button flashing on a side screen letting Loki know that Pepper couldn’t hear them. “Unfortunately their legal system cannot compel me to comply.”

“Good boy,” Tony muttered. “Keep it up.”

“Tony…” Pepper hesitated, her voice soft again; fragile, even. “When are you coming home from Malibu? I’ll need you for that meeting with the Canadian ambassador next week about our clean energy tech.”

Loki watched as Tony’s face sobered, smoothing into a determined scowl. “Well now, you know I’d never miss a business meeting. I’ll check my flight schedule and let you know.”

A voice echoed in the background, familiar. “It’s time, Miss Potts. Our ride’s here.” Loki shivered; he _knew_ that voice, he _knew_ it.

“Okay,” Pepper’s reply was muffled, followed by more nervous taps, and Loki’s brow furrowed as Pepper added, “Well I’ll call again when I can.”

“Bye Pep-Pep,” Tony whispered.

The line disconnected, and Tony’s face crumbled, as he sagged into Loki’s chest. The god reached a hand to tangle his fingers with Stark’s; the inventor sighed, tightening his grip on Loki’s hand. A gentle thumb traced the god’s palm.

“Jarvis, code black,” Tony muttered finally. “Find her. I don’t care what it takes.”

“I thought you would never ask, Sir.”

“What?” Loki whispered. “She’s with SHIELD, she said—”

“She’s their prisoner,” Tony gasped, a tear falling from his chin onto the god’s shirt. “My Malibu house is a pile of rubble at the bottom of the cliff; there’s no reason for me to be there. There’s no meeting with the _Canadian_ ambassador next week. She’s telling us to get the fuck out of dodge. Stay out of the country.”

“What? Then who—” Loki hesitated, and shivered as though he’d fallen into the very center of Jotënheimr itself. “The man, the one who spoke. His voice was familiar. He was on the rooftop, in New York?”

“Yes,” Tony choked out.“Rumlow. That’s his name. She tapped out his name. Agent Rumlow has her. And she’s the bait.”


	43. Getting through another year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I have nothing constructive to say about not updating this for so long. Real life, blah blah. In short, I'm not dead yet. I _feeeeeeeeel_ happy.)

“No, no, no! Fuck!” Tony shouted, his metallic voice crackling across the armor’s speakers as he hovered nearby. “What are you doing, the cha-cha? Extend your palms down, put your arms parallel to your body, not out like you’re a goddamn plane! Do they even have planes in magic-land? Oh goddamn it, not over there! Away from the holotable, you’re going to—”

“Shut up Stark!” Loki growled. He tried to right himself again, angling his palms downward, but the movement was awkward and the god spun to the right instead, as he overcompensated and hunched forward on instinct to roll with the movement. 

Flying in the suit was counterintuitive; the armor forced him to stand tall, wouldn’t let him move in the subtle, quick twists Loki had learned to combat Thor’s indiscriminate blows. Even in Stark’s workshop on the yacht—a cavernous room that took up the entirety of the aft of the vessel with a retractable upper roof deck that doubled as a helicopter landing pad—the space wasn’t large enough for Loki to maneuver in the short, careful bursts of speed needed to safely turn the surprisingly cumbersome armor.

“Back straight, Notre Dame!” Stark snapped again. The mechanic sounded closer now, as if he intended to fly the green armor himself, by force if necessary. “Don’t hunch your shoulders, the stabilizers can’t—”

“I said shut up!” Loki spat, twisting to the left this time. He managed to straighten his legs in the air, briefly, before he shifted one foot in front of the other and angled backwards. He threw his feet and hands out at the last moment, stabilizing himself mere inches from a large window.

“Jarvis, take the wheel!” Iron Man’s hands twisted into a brief imitation of prayer, Tony’s soprano voice crackling across the suit’s speakers. “Take it from his hands, cause he can’t do this on his own!”

“Don’t you dare, construct!”

“I can’t watch this, I can’t—”

“You are such a whiny child, Stark,” Loki turned, managing to shift his weight again to hover right side up.

“Oh, is _that_ what you and Pepper discussed at lunch?” Tony’s voice was spiteful, bitter. “Did you compare notes? Discuss pacifiers?”

“Excuse me? You had your ex-girlfriend take me to lunch because you were too busy to _ask_ me why I was angry, and _now_ you complain? You—”

“Fuck you, I totally _asked_. You just didn’t answer. Not my fault I was too busy making you that suit to ask _another_ twenty times!  And now you’re going to destroy all my hard work if you don’t listen—“

“Maybe if you would bother _telling_ me how to—“

“I’m _trying_ to tell you!”

“Instead of _insulting_ me!” Loki’s voice rose drowning Stark’s out; he’d managed to hover in place for a moment, his knees and arms uncomfortably straight. The suit carried his weight strangely; straining against his thighs and shoulders, the weight pressed uncomfortably against the trickster’s spine. How Stark spent hours fighting in this thing, in an even heavier version than the god’s own, was beyond him.

“See that’s literally not possible, not when you’re hovering over the coffee pot. I don’t know if you noticed, but we aren’t exactly where we can just pop down the street and grab a new one, so—”

“Then stop treating me like an invalid!” Loki tilted his shoulders, and the suit skittered off towards the right. “I was fighting at Thor’s side before humanity invented toilets!”

“That’s because _I_ wasn’t around yet! Oh Jesus fuck, watch it!” 

Loki managed to level himself again, near the wall, and carefully tried to angle the hand repulsors to try and slowly drift the other way.

“Great.” The Iron Man armor clanked to the ground. Tony stepped out, reaching for a red canister as he strolled across the room. “The napkins are on fire, they are literally on fire.”

“If you would have let me practice outside—”

“In the flight path of every major trans-Pacific jet, yes, that’s a totally brilliant plan. Remind me again how you almost conquered Earth?”

Loki cut the repulsors. His boots slammed loudly to the floor with a metallic thud that echoed across the suddenly quiet room.

Tony froze, his eyes wide and wild like a startled doe’s, the fire extinguisher in his hands, forgotten. Behind him, the flames licked at the edges of the microwave and coffee filters. 

“Uh.” Tony stuttered. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Release me, Jarvis,” Loki ordered. 

“Wait, wait— oh fuck!” Tony pulled the silver lever and white foam rushed out with a hushed _shh-shh_ noise, smothering the small inferno.

The green-black material unfolded around Loki’s form in perfect sync as the god stepped forward, his footsteps quiet against the reinforced metal flooring. The acidic stench of smoke and wet foam burned against the god’s nostrils, and he exhaled slowly.

“Okay. I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t—”

Loki scowled at the inventor, before he pushed open the door. He heard Stark curse, followed by another whoosh of pressurized air and foam as he climbed the stairs, two at a time. He didn’t even deign to look back when Stark called his name.

* * *

Tony had managed to scrape together something resembling sandwiches that he’d piled high on a plate with two beers tucked under his elbow, when he found Loki sitting in the shade on the port-side balcony. 

“So,” Tony pushed the plate into Loki’s lap, before huffing and taking a sandwich for himself. “I might not have slept in a few days.”

Loki rolled his eyes, before picking up a sandwich.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tony blurted out between bites. The engineer’s knee bounced, a short, nervous movement. “I know, I know. I keep saying that, keep fucking up and then apologizing, and then fucking up again. Fucking up everything, right now. It’s what I’m—I feel like that’s all I’m doing. Recently. I told you I suck at this.”

“This?”

“Relationships. You know,” Tony waved a hand, gesturing to the god and then himself. “This.”

“Yes,” Loki deadpanned. Stark’s eyes looked sad, resigned. “But,” he continued, “I—that is, to say—you are not the only one. Who is—has difficulties. But this isn’t about us, is it?”

Stark hunched forward, rubbing his eyes. “I dunno. It’s just—We couldn’t even get through a year without something happening again. I mean—” The genius made a choked noise, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Pepper?” Loki clarified. He wiped his mustard-covered fingers across a napkin.

“Pepper.” Stark confirmed. He looked ill. “Not even a year since the whole fiasco with the Mandarin, and now she’s—And I don’t know _why_ SHIELD is doing this? I thought we were good, you know?”

Loki hummed, and looked away. Blue surrounded the ship for as far as his eyes could see, an endless horizon that trailed off to meet the sky. It all seemed so far away from here, adrift on the open sea as the vessel steadily made its way south. He’d sat here for at least an hour, before Stark joined him, with not a cloud or ship or creature in sight.

It was almost like he’d fallen into the void again, this one brighter and warmer than the last. Loki let his arms cross protectively over his abdomen. Warmer, yes, but the breeze held promise of cooler winds, of the chill of night and stars and empty skies.

And from the deck of the yacht, this far out from land and lights… he didn’t want to know what the stars looked like from Midgard, not anymore.

“Loki?” Tony’s voice sounded hesitant. A warm touch grazed his shoulder. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“And _now_ you want to ask again?”

“I’ll ask nineteen more times, if it helps.” Tony gave the god a small grin. “It’s just, well, you don’t seem surprised. About SHIELD being assholes and trying to kill us on the rooftop,” he shrugged. “And then there’s the sleeping with knives thing. Mostly the knives thing, actually.”

The god let his lips curl into a smirk, but his heart wasn’t in it. He exhaled slowly, peeking at the moral through the fringe that had fallen across his eyes. “No more secrets, yes?”

Tony nodded.

The god popped the top off a beer and took a swig, letting the taste wash away the heavy feeling at the back of his throat. He leaned back into the seat, a silver metallic contraption with dark blue cushions soft to the touch. “You remember when I fell ill, a few weeks ago?”

“Of course. Most boring week of my life, and I survived the Stark Industries Board Retreat of 2010 so that’s saying something.”

“Fury—” Loki tried to muster a smile, but it felt wrong. “He, ah, said that SHIELD was responsible for my illness.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Fury thinks he gave you the flu?” Tony’s mouth moved in small circles, jaw muscles jumping under his tanned skin. “Is that—I don’t think that’s possible. Jarvis, is that possible?”

“ _It is possible, sir, though my analysis does not show it is statistically probable_ ,” Jarvis confirmed. “ _The influenza virus is transmitted through the air or contaminated surfaces. The time and distance between exposure and access to an infected surface is quite limited_.”

“Fury claimed he did so. He also said there were worse human illnesses than the flu.” Loki took another sip of his beer, before risking a glance in Stark’s direction. The mortal seemed so genuinely shocked that Loki at once felt guilty for not telling him sooner.

“How?” Tony finally spat, fists clenched tightly against his jean-clad knees.

Loki shrugged. “I did not learn how, before everyone moved out of the tower.”

“Surely not one of the assassin twins,” Tony muttered to himself. His phone had materialized from somewhere, and the mortal was tapping furiously at the screen. “Jarvis, run back through surveillance at the tower, give me a window of a week or so before—hang on, what’s the incubation period for the flu?”

“Less than fourteen days, Sir,” Jarvis chimed from a speaker nearby.

“Then fourteen days. Cross check surveillance against every possible method of infection for that time period.” Tony glared at his phone, as if it had all the answers and refused to share. “Lokes, why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Loki shrugged again. Then Tony’s hand was on his arm, firm and grounding.

“Seriously.” Tony’s voice was cold, purposeful, and Loki felt a thin trickle of sweat trail down his neck. “This is important. Why?”

Loki swallowed, his throat felt dry. “I don’t know. I—It was nothing that I could not handle alone.” _That I haven’t dealt with before_ , he thought. For surely nothing Fury could do would compare to the pranks of Thor’s so-called friends, when he and Thor were children.

“Shit. You mean, you didn’t know who to trust so you just didn’t tell _anyone_? Not me? Not even Rogers? And how is this _normal_ for you, it’s almost like you’re used to it—” Tony stood to pace the small patio, his anxious footsteps short and quick as he crossed the decking. A scowl crossed the shorter man’s features. “Just because you could doesn’t mean you should. What the fuck is wrong with Asgard. I mean—"

“Apologies for the interruption, Sirs, but—”

“Later!” Tony barked.

“My apologies Sirs, but this is important.”

Tony reached for his phone. “What, already? Who’s the traitor, J?”

Jarvis’s artificial voice sounded almost anxious. “I’m intercepting a video broadcast from satellite feed that I believe you and Mr. Lie-Smith should see.”

Tony stood, and Loki had to hurry after the shorter man as Stark climbed the stairs towards the living quarters two at a time. A few turns and Loki followed the engineer into a darkened room, the only light coming from a large video screen covering most of the far wall.

Loki froze. There, on the screen, was Rogers and Romanova, surrendering and surrounded by dozens of SHIELD soldiers aiming weapons at their heads.

“Jarvis,” Tony gasped. The man had managed to stumble into a chair. “What—Is this live? Is this _live_?”

“ _Yes sir. It appears that Captain Rogers and Miss Romanoff have been detained following a public battle with unknown assailants._ ”

“Why isn’t anyone _doing_ anything—?” Tony bit back a frustrated cry, a strangled sound resonating across the quiet space. Loki didn’t hesitate to pace the remaining few steps, and together the pair watched again as the video feed replayed the scene.

Tony let loose a litany of curses as they watched Rogers fight off a man with a metallic arm, before SHIELD had arrived and swept Rogers, Romanoff, and some other guy away into its armored vehicle. Loki couldn’t help but watch in morbid fascination as the footage looped again, this time broadcasted from another angle, somewhere high up, as the super soldier ducked and dodged; his opponent was good, almost too good for a mere mortal.

Then it was over. A few pitch-black troop transports arrived at the scene and heavily armored soldiers poured out. They restrained Rogers and quickly shoved him in the back of an armored truck.

Jarvis muted the talking faces on the screen. “ _I cannot determine whether the combatants are SHIELD; their uniforms appear similar but they are not following the usual protocols. I have also intercepting encrypted messages on channels not usually used by SHIELD or the military._ ”

“Keep tracking that vehicle.” Tony ordered, wiping at his eyes with tightly clenched fists. “And decrypt those messages.”

Loki cleared his throat. “Stark—”

“Something’s rotten in Denmark.” Tony stood, and Loki had to take a step back as the smaller man turned abruptly. “Jarvis, also get me a flight plan to the Unity EAC. And bring my suit upstairs." 

“What—" Loki hurried after him, as Stark trailed out onto the balcony overlooking the pool. “Stark, wait. You can’t help them, you don’t even know who—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony snapped, turning towards the Iron Man suit landing beside the pool decking. “That? That shit-show they just broadcast live on TV? That is not how SHIELD operates.”

“You can’t charge in after them, you don’t even know who attacked them!” Loki protested. “Or what that mortal with the metal arm is capable of.”

“I know,” Tony said, voice calm. He stepped into the boots, the suit wrapping around his form.

“Then what—“

“If I can’t fight them directly, I’ll do it my way.” Tony interrupted. He halted the faceplate with two fingers, stepping towards the god.

“I’ll come with you.”

“No.” 

“Stark,” Loki growled. “You built me a suit, let me _use_ it.”

“It’s not that,” Tony murmured, armored fingers wrapped around the god’s shoulders. Loki looked at him; it was easy, to see the fear in the mortal’s eyes, but the god knew that beneath it anger and determination dwelled too, stronger than ever. 

“I need a link, a direct link to a submarine cable,” the engineer explained. “I can’t hack SHIELD’s mainframe over satellite, I installed too many of my own goddamn protections for them. The cable, it’s at the bottom of the ocean. Not only is your suit not pressure-tested yet, but, well, it’s the _bottom of the ocean_. There’s no light down there. It’s dark and– ”

“Oh,” Loki sighed. “I see.”

Stark’s lips quirked into a tiny grin before he pecked a gentle kiss against the god’s lips. Then the faceplate dropped, and Stark took off into the midday sun.


	44. Anniversaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a gratuitous number of extra spaces and badly spelled words/wrong words in this chapter. Thanks* to [Horns](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinelin/pseuds/Horns%20of%20Mischief) for keepin' me honest. My evil mastermind. <3 
> 
>  
> 
> * At first I misspelled "thanks" as "tanks" and now that I think about that, tanks might be better for totally evil plans.

He woke with a shout, arms outstretched to instinctively protect himself from a blow that didn’t fall.

The god trembled, sucking in harsh, ragged breaths as he waited for the darkness to abate. For his eyes to adjust. Any moment now, _he_ would show himself. He’d appear from behind that dark rock there to taunt the god, to listen to his cries and smirk at him, to laugh at Loki’s ragged pleas for something, _anything_ , The Other’s nasty breath drifting outward, like the smell of something dead and rotten, hidden by the undergrowth—

“Sir?” Jarvis’s voice called out. “It is March 29. You are on the Stark Industries yacht. Local time is 7:42 AM.”

Loki gasped. His arms fell. The blanket he was huddled beneath felt thin but warm, and he ran the feather-light texture between his fingers. It was so smooth, so light to the touch. It reminded him of where he stayed on Vanaheim, of the summers he spent as a boy in that beautiful land, learning the ways of light and energy with his mother.

The fabrics on Vanaheim were luxurious, nothing like the coarse bed-weavings of Asgard. He remembered how Thor had teased him for decades, when the younger god had returned from Vanaheim with new bed linens for his chambers on Asgard. Had called him soft, like the Vanir. How he’d laughed when he’d dropped Loki’s favored duvet into a mud pool, when—

“Jarvis,” Loki rasped, shaking his head to clear the memories. “Lights.”

The room lit in faint blues and golds, outlining the blackened windows. Something—someone else, was in the bed.

Loki leaned forward, a hand pressed to his sternum to steady his rapid heartbeat, to see—the smell of brine and brackish mud hit his nostrils moments before the god noticed the dark hair peaking out from beneath thin cover.

“What time did Stark return?” he whispered.

“A little over an hour ago,” Jarvis’s tone was hushed, and Loki felt the smallest curl of pleasure at how the AI cared for its creator. “Sir asked to be woken when I completed my review of the data he retrieved, in approximately two more hours.”

Loki yawned and rubbed his eyes. It was no use sleeping now. He managed to pull on a t-shirt and jeans without banging his knee in the small space, before he shuffled out of the room. As he closed the door with a gentle click, he saw the lights flick off behind him.

“His journey was successful, then?” he asked, long fingers fiddling with the coffee pot and toaster. He didn’t often drink Stark’s beverage of choice, but somehow the strong, bitter taste just seemed appropriate. “He located the, ah, cable?”

“Sir did indeed located the cable and was able to patch my remote router into their system.” Jarvis almost sounded as though he were smug about it, when he added, “I must say, _Google_ is most disappointing in its security protocols.”

Loki poured his coffee into a white mug with the Stark Industries logo plastered across the side. “Has he found Pepper, then? Or where Rogers and Romanova have been taken?”

The few seconds hesitation wouldn’t have been noticeable, had the god been conversing with a human. But Loki felt a trickle of ice run down his spine at the unexpected delay.

“I have,” the construct replied. “But I have not told Sir yet.”

“Oh,” Loki steadied himself against the counter. If he’d located the three but not told Stark, surely it couldn’t mean— “It’s not bad news, is it? She’s not—They aren’t— Are they dead?” he blurted out, unable to hide the shake in his fingers.

“No,” Jarvis responded immediately. “Forgive me, Mr. Lie-Smith, I did not mean to imply such. It is just that, the data is inconclusive.”

“Inconclusive?” Loki scowled. “What could be _inconclusive_? SHIELD has the three, locked up for whatever reasons, after an attempt to capture me failed. Fury’s _clearly_ changed his mind.”

“That’s just the thing, Sir. It does not appear that Ms. Potts, or indeed even Rogers and Romanova, are in the custody of _SHIELD_ , after all.”

Loki sank into a chair behind the bar, pulling the coffee mug close to his chest. He wasn’t hungry any more. “I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I,” Jarvis intoned. “But I am analyzing the data.”

The god huffed. “You just don’t want to tell me without telling Stark.”

“Sir needs his rest.”

“What are you so afraid of, Construct?” Loki taunted. His coffee had grown cool. “That I’ll run off to foolishly rescue them, without a plan? Without allies?”

This time the AI hesitated, again, before he replied. “To be quite honest, Mr. Lie-Smith, my protocols _have_ been adapted to anticipate Mr. Stark’s decision-making process.”

Loki gave a bitter grimace. “Wrong prince.”

“I shall keep that in mind, Sir.”

* * *

Tony stumbled into the kitchen an hour later, eyes bleary and greasy hair spiked in short, messy tuffs. He managed a half-hearted wave in Loki’s general direction before moving towards the coffee pot. 

“Coffee!” he exclaimed. “You made coffee! You do love me, after all.”

Loki hummed noncommittally. “Maybe I just wanted you on my good side, Stark. After all, you _are_ my only ally in this realm at present.”

“Liar. You made coffee. Coffee equals love.”

“Idiot,” Loki muttered without heat. He’d long since finished his toast and moved to a small sitting area by the window; the projection screen beside him showed the news footage from D.C. again, this time the fight between Rogers and the metal-armed man analyzed and replayed and slowed down enough to show the vents of the dark-clad man’s arm move and open as he and Rogers danced around each other.

“Someone’s a sour patch today,” Tony said. He planted himself on the arm of Loki’s chair. “What’s got you down, Boo Boo?”

Loki turned to look at the engineer from the corner of his eye. “And to think I’d once thought that you’d reached the end of your talent in giving me ridiculous names.”

“Nope,” Stark grinned. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Loki was fairly certain that the shorter man’s face wasn’t usually this pale.

A movement caught his attention, and the god made a frustrated noise, gesturing at the television screen. “I’ve been watching the battle—“

“Fight,” Tony corrected.

Loki rolled his eyes. “The _battle_ in D.C.—”

“Still a fight,” Tony covered a grin with a sip from his mug. “A battle on earth involves armies, not Halloween rejects with special non-Olympic approved prosthetics.”

“Stark. This is _important_ ,” Loki chided. “The man in that video. He _caught_ the shield.”

“Yeah, so?” Tony looked away; his knee bounced in a nervous flitter. “I could probably catch it in the suit. Maybe. If Steve gives me a heads up on the Frisbee game.”

“No,” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “No, you couldn’t.”

“You’re probably right,” Tony finally muttered. As though he’d been running calculations for the last minute (and, Loki supposed, he probably had been). “Vibranium has a shit-ton of mass, and the speed at which Capsicle throws that thing….”

“In Stuttgart—“ Loki swallowed, painfully aware that Stark’s gaze had turned much too serious. It was like wading through honey, letting his mind wrap and touch and pull at the memories of the invasion, from before the Hulk had smashed his mind into the tiles of Tony’s penthouse floor. Even after all this time, thinking about his arrival on Midgard pained him. Like touching at a wound, pulling and pushing the skin apart to remove the debris and dirt, and just when he’d thought it had healed, the skin inflamed and reddened and he’d had to slit the thin thread and start again.

Loki cleared his throat. Started again. “In Stuttgart, Rogers threw his shield, and I barely had time to knock it away with the scepter. This man—“ the god gestured at the silver-armed figure on screen; Jarvis had helpfully paused the footage, showing the exact moment the man held the shield outstretched in one hand. “Even ignoring the capabilities of the arm itself, if he is indeed controlling the prosthetic, which he must be, if you study his movements, it is still the soldier’s reflexes that would—His reflexes, the speed and strength to catch the shield. He’s not entirely _human_ , Stark.”

“Oh,” Tony looked more intrigued than weary. “Wonder what he is, then.”

“I thought you said they never replicated the formula that Steve imbibed.”

“Tried. Failed. Didn’t.” Tony sank into the chair next to Loki, forcing the god to scoot over to accommodate the mortal’s weight. “Bruce became mean-green, yada yada yada. No one else came even close. Speaking of that, though. Jarvis, talk to daddy. You find anything in candy land?”

“Not exactly, Sir. However, it does not appear that Ms. Potts, Captain Rogers, or Ms. Romanoff are presently in SHIELD’s custody.”

“Well, that’s good? I guess? Except for the whole, you know, we just saw him get arrested yesterday thing?” Tony scowled at his coffee, as though the black substance had offended him. “Unless they’re being held somewhere secretly, off the books.” 

“Indeed, Sir. But I cannot find any trace nor mention of their presence within any of SHIELD’s recent communications,” Jarvis said. “And I can confirm that as of 0800 Eastern Time, the warrant for Captain Roger’s arrest had not been terminated”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tony placed his coffee mug on the end table. “Even SHIELD’s not that good. There’s always chatter. _Always._ ”

“Which is why I thought to look deeper into the communications feed,” Jarvis replied. The screen shifted, displaying a blue-black scattering of dots and data points that looked to Loki a bit like those ink tests that SHIELD had attempted to show the god so long ago. One scattering of data points in particular highlighted blue and enlarged on screen. “I found this signal embedded beneath the official channel’s data stream.”

Tony whistled. The engineer’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to pull apart the image and examine it from all sides.

“A signal piggybacked under the main data channels?” Tony guessed.

“That was my conclusion as well. Its encryption signature also matches those on the unusual messages I located yesterday.”

“Holy shit,” Tony muttered. “There’s a faction within a faction.”

“What?” Loki turned, but Stark was already pacing the width of the room in fast movements.

“SHIELD isn’t SHIELD. I mean, SHIELD _is_ SHIELD but it’s not _our_ SHIELD,” Tony waved a hand dismissively. “It makes sense in my head. We know someone tried to take out Fury. We know that someone went after us and Bruce. And now someone has Pepper. Holy fucking—”

“Stark,” Loki stood in the mortal’s path. “You aren’t speaking plainly. What does this,” the god waved to the screen, “data stream mean?”

“It means you were right,” Tony muttered, his arms instinctively curling to block the light from his reactor. “We don’t know who to trust. Trust _no one_. I don’t know who is after Cap or Nat, who has Pepper, hell, not even who attacked us. SHIELD’s compromised—”

“There is a traitor?” Loki recoiled. “Someone from within—”

“Someone. Or something. Has to be big, to keep something like that secret,” Tony gestured to the metal-armed man on the adjacent screen. “To hide something that big in the modern world?  With internet and cameras and FOIA? Something _big_.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.” Tony grumbled. “Jarvis, keep working on decrypting that piggyback. Top priority. I’ll be in the workshop.”

Loki ducked his head as Tony passed by; he managed to hide how his hands shook, barely. He should never have stayed here, on Midgard. Should have let Thor return him to Asgard last year, after New York. At least these innocents, these _humans_ , who had done so much and been so kind, too kind— And now the few he’d come to care for, who he’d come to think of as friends, in this short time he’d been relegated to the land of mortal men—

And to think it had already been almost a year, that in a mere few days it would be the anniversary of the attack on New York, and yet here he was, still endangering the planet. If it wasn’t one threat to these fragile creatures, it was another. At least if he’d returned with Thor to Asgard, maybe, just maybe he’d have been able to warn them, warn Odin about Thanos. Warn Thor. If they would even _listen_ to him, even _believe_ him. It’d been clear that Thor didn’t believe him, when he’d left Midgard last summer. That the Thunderer had thought his human allies _mad_ for questioning whether the god had actually _wanted_ to rule Earth. Why _else_ would the trickster have brought war to their doorstep? The thought made Loki want to laugh, laugh and then cry until Ragnarok took him, brutal and white—

A face swam into view, and it took the god a moment to focus on Tony’s warm eyes, worried and bright as the mortal ducked his head to look at Loki.

“You coming down? To the lab, I mean?” Stark asked. “Thing is. I mean. It’s just, this kinda sucks, you know? And I’d rather have company. If you’re not busy today.”

“Yes, of course,” Loki tried to smile but it felt flat. “Let’s go.”


	45. Freshly Made Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this story and posted comments asking about its status over the last year. It's not abandoned; it never was. The last year threw me some pretty wicked curve balls and unexpected events, both good and bad. But I'm back, and still writing, in between work, life, an upcoming move in August, the Frostiron Bang (I'm IN!), the four year old starting school inSeptember, and new baby's feedings and diapers, so it won't be fast and it won't be regular... But really, thanks. It means the world that you guys have commented even when it's been AGES since this beast was updated, not knowing if I was around or not, waiting for a sign of life... Will respond to comments as soon as I can but dear god there's a lot right now! ;)
> 
> ~A

“Surely it cannot be that difficult?” Loki muttered, skimming his fingers across the surface of the tablet. The ingredients seemed simple enough; flour, a bit of baking powder, salt, butter for the pan, eggs, milk. He’d followed more complicated castings as a child.

He flipped through the instructions once more before he set to work, carefully cracking the eggs against the rim of the bowl before stirring the mixture. It was a simple task, routine and boring against the frustrations of the day.

When Loki had woken early that morning, still too early for the sun to have risen in the sky, an empty bed and Jarvis’s plainly annoyed tone had been his only companions. It was easy to guess what happened. Tony had refused to leave the makeshift workshop, had worked himself stiff and to the point of exhaustion looking through the data for something, _anything_ , that would show Pepper’s location, when, finally, he’d fallen into an uneasy slumber against his desk in the early morning hours.

Loki flipped a pancake, careful of the edges, taking care to wait for the batter to bubble first. The smell was intoxicating, something comfortable and warm and indescribably Midgardian.

He flipped another, before plating a short stack and scooping out batter for another round. Coupled with the fresh sea air from the open door, the kitchen overlooking the yacht’s private deck, he could almost imagine they were here to relax rather than hide.

Almost, but Loki had always been particularly good at lying to himself.

Agent Hill had phoned late last night, checking to make sure Loki and Stark were still far from the chaos; surprised to learn that Potts wasn’t still in New York. Confirming that SHIELD—or what remained of it—didn’t know where she was. 

Then, between Tony’s screaming jags and desperate searches for something _, anything_ , tied to Pepper’s departure from New York, they’d watched three of the largest helicarriers he’d ever seen crash and burn into a river on the edge of America’s capital city. Just, gone. And the news reports that _Captain America_ had been aboard, that _Steve_ had helped bring those great vessels down?

Well that news certainly hadn’t done any favors for Stark’s on-board scotch collection.

Loki inhaled sharply, after catching his finger against the edge of the pan. He shook off the pain, ignoring the way the tip closest to his nail pinked.

He’d heard that morning, at least, that Rogers had survived. The media had said as much. But the speculations and downright _traitorous_ statements made about his fellow Avengers, made Loki sick. How quick the press were to ask, ‘Where is Iron Man?’ as though Stark could have magically known what Romanova and Rogers had planned.

He switched off the stove, carrying a plate of steaming flapjacks towards the table with a bottle of maple syrup tucked under his elbow. Tony’s own stack he’d placed in the warming tray for when the inventor managed to drag himself awake, but after the amount of alcohol and coffee the mortal had consumed last night, the god wasn’t expecting miracles.

He managed half of his stack before the sweetness became too much, and Loki pushed his plate away. 

“Jarvis, please mark step 45 completed,” Loki said, dabbing at a bit of syrup that’d slipped down his chin.

“So noted,” the construct chimed.

Loki grimaced, flexing his fingers involuntarily. It felt… wrong, somehow, without the spark of life he’d grown accustomed to on the tip of his fingers.

He wanted to hit something; the foreign sensation swirled across his visage, tainting the sharp whites and blacks and reds of the ship interior, a floating luxurious prison cell entrapping him on Midgard. And for _what_? What good was _living_ if he’d spend the rest of his time this forsaken realm hidden away like some caged pet bilgesnape, taunted and teased and fed for the entertainment of his masters? He disliked being here, surrounded by water and cut off from what was happening in the realm, tossed aside to hide because his _cursedly_ mortal form made him _vulnerable—_

Without his magic, without what made him _Loki_ , he was forced to wait for updates like anyone else. Stuck on this floating coffin somewhere in the middle of the Pacific (if the map Jarvis had shown him meant anything, but the god had his doubts), on this thrice-damned and seriously cursed planet where seemingly _nothing_ went according to plan and _no one_ could be trusted.

He stood, depositing his plate in the sink before his long, quick steps took him to the big screen television in the sitting area. Loki flipped through the news channels, listening, looking for anything new.

Like listening for the lull in the hushed winds before a storm.

The reports were the same; Rogers had survived, there was no doubt about that. But SHIELD’s secrets were adrift on the internet, with both hackers and vigilantes alike sorting through their records. Probably about Loki, too; there was only so much Jarvis could do, could salvage from the interwebs before the public could digest it. And that something, _someone_ , had invaded the supposedly secret organization, twisting its iron grip around the dredges of the spy network in the chaos that followed, it made him nervous in a way he couldn’t define.

But Jarvis could find no sign of Ms. Potts, no traces of the _voice_ he’d heard, the man from the rooftop. The man Tony said was called Rumlow. There were hints, of course; someone had caught cell phone footage of an explosion or some sort of fireball that ripped through one of the glass buildings, thought that a human matching Rumlow’s description was involved. No one had been found in any of the local hospitals or morgues matching his description, his build or features or even dental records, as far as Jarvis could find. 

Which made sense, Loki thought. If he _were_ part of whatever shadows had crept into the folds of SHIELD, why wouldn’t he slink back into the shadows now?

Loki tapped his fingers against the edge of the leather chair, a quick rhythm reminiscent of one of his first spells; _light_. 

Even in darkness on Thanos’s rock, he’d had his _light._

He flicked his fingers again, relishing the feeling of the familiar movements even if it didn’t result in the green spark he wanted. Like how Banner’s leg jiggled when he was deep in thought, a nervous tickle in the movements. The news had turned back to the Potomac, a murky beige mess with bits of black machinery peering out from its muddy borders as helicopters and recovery boats both skimmed the surface looking for survivors. Infiltrated or not, the carriers had been staffed with close to one hundred men, Stark said.

Loki made a fist and snapped his fingers into the complicated pattern again... For what was _one_ human in the face of such chaos.

And yet that was what they now searched for, one mere human in the chaos, with red hair and freckles and the apparently superhuman capacity to put up with Stark after he’d been in the workshop for over 30 hours straight.

Nothing had worked. Jarvis could not find any trace of Ms.Pott’s movements, of the car that had whisked her away from New York or the supposed safe-house she had telephoned from. Whoever had taken her had covered their tracks quite well. And there had been nothing from Romanova; the leaked files made mention of her, yes, but along with the Captain it was almost as though the redhead had disappeared too.

Loki flicked his fingers again, and froze. He blinked in disbelief, before shaking the tips of his fingers and flicking through the pattern again.

There, at the tips between his index and thumb, lapped the gentlest of green flames.

A moment later, he smothered it with a grimace, eyes darting towards the ceiling as though he’d expected Jarvis to chime in, but the AI remained suspiciously silent. With quick, sure steps the once-god moved towards the open-aired deck, and it wasn’t until his fingers had wrapped around the smooth metal bar that Loki dared look up, dared glance at the early morning sky.

Above him, the sky stretched on for ages, beyond the blue scattered reflection he could almost feel the weight of eons of light that had taken its precious time to arrive in this backwater realm, from stars and galaxies unknown even to the Aesir. The realm of Midgard, a middle ground of desolation and waste as far as the Golden Kingdom was concerned, serving only to exist as a barrier between the lower realms, a boondoggle of a place, crippled by its own mortality.

Loki choked on a laugh, felt it bubbling up from within, clawing at his chest in a painfully bright spot, like a dagger left to rot in his heart. Crippled, _aye_. Midgard’s knowledge of the old “magics” had long faded, into stories of legends and tales of wizards and nothing more.

It was hard to know where to begin.

It had been the smallest of slivers, a slice of green and that feeling of warmth that he’d missed, that tingle against his spine, and it made him nervous. It made him _shiver_ , again as he turned away from the sea, and then turned again into the breeze.

Because if Asgard had seen fit to return his magic, or at least _some_ of his magic, what did it mean? What did it _mean_? And why _now_?


End file.
